Glowing Embers
by BravoExpressions
Summary: When a very pregnant Mary is enlisted to aide a fragile witness, she and her unborn child are put in jeopardy. Takes place mid-to-late season four; T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Greetings, friends! I've missed you! I said end of November, right? Well, there's been a change of plan, although an entire story in just a month is not as 'impressive' as it might seem. ;)**

**This fan-fiction is actually one I started a little under a year ago (I think around Thanksgiving.) I got a long way through it, and then boxed it up in favor of tales I had more investment in (continuing Sam, for example.) But now, since I have so much going on, it seemed like a good one to come out and tweak. That way, I could finish it up and have something to post without the added pressure of completing an entire tale in a short time frame. Rest assured, it's all done and ready to post with nightly chapters just like always.**

**This one does come with some quirks, though. Since it was started and mapped out a year ago, I didn't know for the vast majority of writing it what was going to go down in season five. For the most part, this doesn't make a lot of difference, I just feel it's important to mention in case anything that was resolved in season five pops up. It's supposed to take place roughly around the later half of season four – kind of in the 'A Womb with a View' range. I would say it slots in right before that episode, so no Mark yet, although I do have Mary already thirty-two weeks pregnant as she was in the finale. Hopefully you'll forgive the little alternation.**

**And with that, I hope you enjoy! I'm sure you're so over all the Mary-is-pregnant stories that I keep cooking up, but I beg you'll be kind.**

XXX

August in New Mexico. It was like the hellhole of the southwest. All-consuming, never-ending, parched, dry, heat – it circled as though it were caught in the clouds above, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

And Mary Shannon, just about to tip the thirty-two week mark in her pregnancy, couldn't have been more miserable with the blazing sun beating down on her neck every second of the day. As if being held captive in her own body wasn't enough, now she was a hostage of the weather as well. And for someone who didn't wear shorts and scarcely wore T-shirts without a jacket, this was a bigger conundrum than she'd anticipated.

Monday morning she huffed into the Sunshine Building (how aptly named) high on temper and extremely short on patience. Her jeans were too tight and she couldn't stomach her usual blazer in the humidity, so she wore a God-awful blousy top Brandi had picked up for her. It was dark green, sleeveless and cut like a lampshade. If shorts and T-shirts were a rarity, anything sleeveless was usually out-of-the-question. These days her arms were as fat as the rest of her, but she was too warm to care. To top it all, her feet were screaming in protest as she shoved on a pair of boots, unable to find another item of footwear in her rush to get out of the house.

"Hey," Marshall greeted her shortly with a jerk of his head as she flew through the double doors, slinging her bag onto her desk and scattering a cup of pencils to the floor.

Marshall looked up for his computer, deciding to tread lightly with what was clearly a testy demeanor from his partner.

"Rough morning?" he inquired, one eyebrow raised.

"Hellish," she responded, flipping through a pile of sticky notes on her desk. They contained all sorts of irritating items she had pushed to the back of her mind in favor of more pressing matters.

"Anything in particular?" Marshall continued. "Or the usual?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'the usual,'" she answered, tossing the post-its onto her keyboard and straightening the pencils. "Jesus God…"

She fanned her shirt open and went to the windows behind her desk, trying to get them open.

"You do know the air conditioning is on…" Marshall reminded her, not wanting it on his head that he'd hiked up the bill by letting all the cold air out.

"Yes, I know that, Poindexter," she waved a flippant hand and continued to maneuver the windows open. "I am a dog in the desert here; it's sweltering."

She shoved the pole out of the window and it fell with a clank to the roof outside. Sighing loudly, she grabbed one of the WITSEC binders off her desk and propped it up with that.

"You know…" Marshall stood; not liking her all worked-up, and ventured around to her desk. "I'm not sure it's in our protocol to use federal materials as…window dressing," he gestured blandly at the glass. Now that it was open, a steamy breeze was wafting through.

"You gonna report me?" Mary was looking murderous as she took a seat at her desk and booted up her computer.

Marshall chose not to answer, deciding it was best to assume the question had been rhetorical. Instead, he watched Mary blow her hair out of her eyes, one hand rubbing the side of her stomach in an agitated sort of way. He was dying to ask what that was about but couldn't help wondering if it was the best idea considering her current mood. Although these days, Mary's hormones were leaving her fairly unpredictable – whatever she said to the contrary.

"How are you feeling?" he prodded with reckless abandon, but was careful to keep his tone light so she knew to what he was referring. It wasn't about the heat this time.

"Jesus Marshall," she shook her head. That was the second 'Jesus' in less than two minutes. Nothing good could come of it.

"I just wondered," he shrugged nonchalantly. "If there was more on your mind this morning than just the temperature."

"Keep asking questions and you'll _feel_ what's on my mind," she grumbled, navigating with her mouse.

Marshall let that one sit a moment while she kept her eyes narrowed into slits, deliberately keeping them off his. She was being evasive on purpose and if he just hung on, she might give a little. While he waited, he pulled out a spare chair between their desks and settled himself to her left. She typed furiously, doing her damndest to ignore him. To pass the time, he drummed his fingers absentmindedly and checked his watch hoping Stan would be in soon so they could start their day.

When he glanced up again, Mary had her head in her arms, honey-colored hair spread all over her desk, hiding her face from Marshall's. He wasn't worried. She was just avoiding the inevitable.

"How many more weeks of this shit?" she mumbled, voice muffled beneath her arms.

"Eight," he answered with a small sigh.

He knew she was hurting. Her feet ached; she couldn't run the way she used to, spent every half hour in the bathroom, and wasn't technically supposed to be in the field doing what she loved. Although, Stan had managed to keep that last one stretched to the breaking point. He was also willing to bet with it being her eighth month that she was starting to have Braxton Hicks contractions, which would make her even more uncomfortable.

Proving his theory, Mary groaned at Marshall's revelation of how much was still to come.

"I don't want to," she stated baldly, head still hidden.

"Don't want to what?" Marshall wanted to be clear.

"I don't know how much longer I can take it before I snap," and she finally looked up, shaking her tumbling hair out of her eyes to meet Marshall's glance. "I can't even _walk_ without getting tired! It's demeaning and degrading as hell and I hate it!"

Marshall could tell she was fighting tears, but she would fight to the death. He didn't expect to see them fall for a minute. Nobody held back better than Mary. It was both a blessing and a curse.

"I know it's rough," he said gently. "I'm sorry."

She scowled, clearly unable to find a way to shoot down his obvious sincerity. Marshall stole away with the opportunity when she granted him the silence.

"I know eight weeks seems like an eternity right now," he continued. "But you've made it thirty-two. In the grand scheme, things are winding up. Before you know it, this kid's gonna be out and off to…"

He trailed away, trying to cover his blunder with a shrug but he wasn't sure Mary bought it. As far as he knew, she was still planning to meet with an adoptive family in a few days' time. The thought made his heart twinge with an unfamiliar pain, but he knew he had to support whatever Mary wanted. Especially since her mother and sister made no secret of the fact that they wished she would keep the little one.

Mary sighed, deciding to let what she knew was on Marshall's mind go for the time being. He didn't need to know that she was both horrified to stay pregnant one more day, but equally terrified that she didn't have a clue what to do once the kid landed. Miserable though she might've been, so long as the baby stayed inside she was safe from any life-altering decisions. Right now, he or she was secluded from all that and Mary was hard-pressed not wanting it to stay that way.

"Just hang in there," Marshall finally finished. "It's not forever."

_That's what he thought._

"In the meantime," he stood, satisfied with their little chat and returned the chair to its original spot. "Can I get you anything before we put our nose to the grindstone for the day?"

"What does that even mean?" Mary furrowed her brow, looking skeptical. "Where do you come up with this crap?"

"Hey, it's not my crap," Marshall was defensive and Mary chuckled at the phrasing. Knowing she wasn't going to succumb to help on her own, he went to the sink and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. "Somebody else thought it up; I'm just taking creative license."

"Whatever," she muttered while Marshall filled the glass with water. Wordlessly, he walked back and set it on her desk. She snatched it at once without thanking him and took a long drink.

"Mmm…" she murmured; water still in her mouth so she couldn't get the words out. She swallowed and then, "Damn…"

"What?" Marshall prompted; he was stationed in front of her, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. She put a hand to her back and rubbed it slightly, but it didn't seem to be giving her much relief. She winced and set the water down.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "My back hurts."

Just add it to the list, Marshall thought. He hated seeing her dealing with so many different aches that she couldn't control, but knew he couldn't possibly hate it as much as she did.

"Are you sleeping on your back?" he wanted to know, hoping to be of some help. "That might be a contributing factor. But it's also because your lower back is curving since your belly's growing. It's making your muscles strain and…"

"Shut up Marshall," she snapped. "Get me a sign, 'Wide Load,' I'll hang it around my neck, and we'll be good to go."

That was enough to convince him to lay off the pregnancy talk for the morning. He could see her frustration level rising and didn't want to make it worse. Fortunately, he was saved the possibility of a response because Stan strolled in with his usual cheerful wave.

"Good morning inspectors," he sang merrily. "I've got a new one for us today. Wait 'till you see her."

"I can hardly wait," Mary mumbled, but Marshall wasn't fooled. The prospect of a new witness she could somehow worm her way into working with was sure to boost her spirits, however bad she might be feeling.

"Why is that window open?" Stan pointed, looking annoyed as papers on the file cabinet fluttered in the breeze. "Close it and get into the conference room. Our girl will be here in forty-five minutes and we've gotta get the paperwork started."

He strode into his office to drop off his briefcase and Mary stood, smirking dangerously at Marshall.

"I told you, doofus," she said, yanking the WITSEC binder out of the frame with a thud. "Stan, I told him!" she called. "Do you know how much money we're wasting letting the cold air out?"

Marshall shook his head, but smirked right back as she prattled on.

"Honestly inspector, you are so inconsiderate."

XXX

**A/N: A short intro, but I hope you liked the beginning! I should mention too that Delia doesn't get any exposure in this. That wasn't on purpose, but for the period I was penning the tale, she wasn't on the show very much so I just left her out. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank-you so much for the initial reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. I should warn you though, this is my first story with a fairly prominent witness, and I'm praying it is even halfway to realistic. My knowledge of law enforcement is not exactly plentiful. **

XXX

"Cassidy Ford, formerly Cassidy Farmer of Salt Lake City, Utah," Stan announced, tossing a file folder onto the table in the conference room while his two inspectors looked on.

Marshall was quicker and picked up the envelope before Mary could get to it, leaving her to appeal to Stan.

"So what's her story?"

"Pretty cut-and-dry," Stan shrugged while Marshall perused the contents of the file. "Lived with dad and grandpa; pop-pop was a habitual gambler, got into it with the bookies in the alley behind the apartment; wound up dead from a blow to the head."

"Why did she live with the father and grandfather?" Mary inquired. "Mooched off a card-game lowlife and couldn't make her own living outside of…you know, the family business?"

"Uh…" Marshall murmured, beckoning with his finger, his eyes on the folder in front of him. "Might want to take a look."

Shooting Stan a glance, she leaned in her seat to see what Marshall was observing. Staring back at her from inside the folder was a little girl, enormous brown eyes and auburn hair, freckles sprinkled across her nose. It was a school picture, so she smiled happily, her hair combed and tied off with a turquoise bow in the back. One of her front teeth was missing.

"You could've mentioned she was a munchkin, chief," Mary grumbled resentfully.

"Oh, did I forget that?" Stan bounced on the balls of his feet in his usual carefree way. "My apologies."

"So…how does she fit into this?" Marshall asked, waving his fingers at the picture and then raising his eyes to meet Stan's. "What'd she see?"

"Her grandfather being murdered," Stan reported bluntly. "From the upstairs window, but from what I can gather she got quite an eyeful. Worst part is, the bookies caught a glimpse of her too."

"So…why not off her on the spot?" Mary wanted to know, pulling some back pages out of the folder behind Marshall's hand. "She's a kid; she couldn't defend herself."

"That's the tricky thing," Stan continued, taking a sip from his coffee. Mary did her best not to inhale and fought off telling him to toss it in the garbage. If she wanted to be a part of this case, she had to hold her tongue. Stan was already reluctant to put her in the field as it was.

"The dad hit the alley shortly after his old man was killed and tried to go a round with the bookies himself," he went on. "Wherever the girl went in the meantime remains a mystery but the police got her before the killers did, so that's something to be grateful for."

"And what about the dad?" Marshall consulted the papers spilling from the folder and saw that Mary now had the information.

"Alexander Farmer?" Mary voiced, thumbing through the documents herself. "He's not coming into the program with her? Does he have a rap sheet?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Stan replied. "But nobody saw what happened in the alley after the grandfather died and several of those bookies turned up dead later in the evening…"

"And his prints are all over the crime scene," Marshall nodded in understanding as he put the pieces together.

"Right you are, inspector," Stan inclined his head as well. "Until he gets things sorted out with the police in Salt Lake as well as Child Protective Services, Cassidy is our only witness and she's already been placed with a foster family currently in the program."

"Jesus…" Mary muttered, her eyes straying back to the picture of the little girl who couldn't be more than seven years old. She looked alight with joy in the stilted school photo – perfectly groomed and styled. You'd never know the kind of turmoil wreaking havoc on her life at home.

"Where's the mother?" Mary asked as she slipped the picture into her palm, the finish smooth against her fingers.

"Dead," Stan answered. "The grandmother too. Mom was a drug addict and bit the dust before Cassidy was a year old. So, if the dad – Alex – turns out to be legit he is the first of the law-abiding citizens in his family."

"Quite an accomplishment," Mary muttered disdainfully. "But not likely."

"Don't count your chickens on this one," Marshall wagged a disapproving finger as he continued to sort through the papers. "By all accounts, Alex is a stand-up guy; he was only housing the grandfather in the hopes that he would get some help, according to his statement. Not so much as a traffic ticket on his record."

"Hey, newsflash Colombo," Mary butted in. "Maybe you haven't figured this out after all your years in law enforcement but…criminals lie! What a shock!" she put on a face of mock-surprise and Marshall frowned.

"Enough, you two," Stan intervened, taking a seat at the conference table across from them. "Marshall, Cassidy is your responsibility until we can get this situation with her dad worked out. If he turns out to be innocent, she'll be relocated again."

"So, Albuquerque's just a pit stop?" Mary wanted to know. "What if the guy is a walking con-job?"

"We better hope he isn't," Stan replied. "As of now, Cassidy is able to give taped testimony so she won't have to go through the trauma of reliving the ordeal in a courtroom but if Alex is busted, that deal hits the fan."

"Why?" Mary demanded, riled on the little girl's behalf. "What bearing does he have on that?"

"He is claiming he saw about half of what happened through the same window but until Salt Lake PD confirms it, that remains to be seen," Stan continued.

"And if he is sketchy?" Marshall interrupted from behind the folder. "What then?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Stan said. "As for you…" he turned to Mary, who was trying not to look over-eager. "Marshall's lead on this, you copy?"

Disappointed, Mary fed him a scowl of deepest loathing, glaring childishly.

"Does that mean I have to sit in the back of the car and do the crossword while he blasts the bookies if they come calling?"

"Mary, this isn't a game," Stan pounded the table in his agitation. "You're eight months pregnant for Christ's sake; I'm not putting you in harm's way."

She sighed exasperatedly, peering at Marshall in the hopes that he would come to her aide but she should've known better. He was even more against her being in the line of fire than Stan was. Giving him a dirty look when he shrugged in an ashamed sort of way, she turned back to Stan.

"Can I do _anything_?" she pleaded. "Come on. Does it not show how desperate I am to be part of the action that I'm willing to saddle up with a kid? Think about it."

"Are you even sure that's a good idea?" Marshall asked skeptically. "Considering your mood as of late…"

"Oh, don't even go there," she snapped, hardly daring to believe he had the gall. "You want to see a mood; just wait."

Mary didn't miss Marshall flash Stan a look of compliance ever-so-briefly before his eyes swiveled back to the folder.

"You're not missing out on much, Mary," Stan tried to appease her, even leaning in to get a better look at her features. "She's not gonna be under our watch for long and the local PD has most of it covered. She's protected round-the-clock when she's in school; there's a guard in her classroom."

"So, wait," Marshall interrupted. "Where do I come in?"

"You'll consult with ABQ PD…"

"You mean his girlfriend," Mary muttered, the thought not improving her sullen attitude.

Marshall shot her an exasperated look, but didn't respond.

"Check in at the school as needed – mostly just work together with the foster family 'till her dad is able to take her back. Make sure they're all on the same page."

"Will do," Marshall nodded.

Mary was feeling extremely put-out. Here she thought she'd be able to weasel her way into something field-related and the limited amount of exposure in that area made it nearly impossible. Not to mention the fact that neither Marshall nor Stan were taking her very seriously in the matter. In the back of her mind, she knew they just wanted her to be safe but nothing rankled her more than being told to sit down and shut up.

"Speak of the devil," Stan turned as the three of them heard the knock on the glass double-doors separating the elevator from the office.

Mary saw Abigail standing outside – watched her wave at Marshall with one hand while the other held onto the fingers of the little girl in the picture, who looked thoroughly petrified. Marshall waved too while Stan got up to let her in, and Mary's scowl became even more pronounced as she saw Abigail parade inside. Nothing got by her partner and he nudged her with his elbow.

"I'd say your face would freeze like that, but…"

"But what?" Mary snapped. "It's in a pretty permanent position these days, anyway. How would you expect me to look?"

Marshall opened his mouth to respond, but was spared the task of answering when Abigail entered with Cassidy who was wide-eyed and looked fairly worn-down. Mary noticed she was dressed decently – jeans, tennis shoes, and a pink and orange striped polo. She looked to be in good condition but there was no mistaking the terror and sorrow behind her eyes.

"Good morning!" Abigail chirped. "Marshall – Mary," she nodded briefly at the pair of them. Mary didn't say anything, but Marshall stood up.

"Morning, detective."

The way they tiptoed around the fact that they were together made Mary feel faintly sick and she wasn't sure she was up to hiding it.

"Our little lady here is ready for some meet-and-greet," Abigail continued, patting the child's head as though she were a dog. She didn't answer, but looked around the room with mild interest, her eyes not meeting anyone else's.

"Great," Mary couldn't resist interjecting, her feet now resting on one of the chairs as she leaned in her own seat to stretch out the kinks in her back. "Should we go over the MOU with her?" added sarcasm.

"Mary, you are too funny," Abigail chuckled obnoxiously and Marshall laughed as well. "Nope, Cassidy here just came over to meet with Inspector Mann so she can get comfortable with him during her time here in Albuquerque."

Stan was smiling kindly at the little girl and Marshall did the same. Mary kept her face even and moderate, lounging rather unattractively now in attempts to get comfortable. She barely listened as Abigail gave Marshall the details on when her foster family would be by to pick her up, and was merely satisfied to see the door shut as Abigail bid them all farewell.

It wasn't that she hated Abigail. She didn't. In some ways, there wasn't even much to dislike about her. It was just…_something_. Something irritating, something off-putting…something about all the time she spent with Marshall.

She'd never been good at sharing.

"Well, Cassidy," Marshall began once Abigail was gone, pulling a chair out for her to sit in.

Surprisingly, she grabbed her own chair – the one closest to Mary – and sat there instead. She hopped up, legs dangling a few inches above the ground, running her hands up and down her jeans. Marshall chose to ignore the slight and sat in the chair himself. Stan lingered in the background, letting his inspector do the work.

"I'm Inspector Mann. But you can call Marshall," he said invitingly. "It's pretty easy to remember – 'cause I _am_ a Marshal," and he pulled the badge off his belt for her to look at. Slowly, she took it and turned the star over in her fingers, examining the points with scrutiny.

Wordlessly, she handed it back to him and nodded. Then her eyes strayed to Mary, who was now slouched down so far in her chair her neck was against the back. Unexpectedly, Stan kicked the underside of the seat just hard enough to get her to sit up. Wiggling her too-wide-ass into the spot, she tried to give the little girl a smile but she knew it looked forced and awkward.

"That's my friend Mary," Marshall continued, seeing Cassidy's eyes on her. "She's a Marshal too."

Cassidy swallowed, her gaze shifting off Mary's face and onto her stomach. The woman suddenly felt self-conscious and wished she could hide the bulge. Unlike most adults, Cassidy didn't bother trying to hide her interest. She stared, completely unabashed and Mary found herself adjusting the shirt around her middle.

"Hey Cassidy," Mary cast her a lazy wave, deciding to leave the introductions at that.

"Is there anything you want to ask us?" Marshall inquired gently. "Anything you want? Are you hungry?"

She shook her head, eyes flitting now between both Mary and Marshall.

"You talk?" Mary demanded loudly and she heard Marshall sigh.

Hey, she wasn't known for handling with kid gloves, never mind that it was an _actual_ kid this time. Marshall knew that better than anyone.

But it seemed Cassidy was going to surprise them both.

"Is there a baby in your belly?"

Her voice was soft and meek, but Mary knew curiosity well-enough to know how to spot it. Deciding this could be handled pretty briefly, she nodded and shrugged.

"Mmm hmm," she replied indistinctly. "Anything else?"

Mary had never heard a louder silence. It was intoxicating, like it was cloaking them all under some giant sheet, trapping them from the outside world. She didn't know how she knew it, but Mary sensed a much bigger question ahead – with more weight and a lot more riding on it than she was prepared for.

Cassidy transferred her hands to her lap and her eyes followed her thumbs as she twisted her fingers back and forth. Marshall was about to speak, but Mary beat him to it.

"What?" she whispered as tenderly as she could, leaning in to place a hand on the child's shoulder. "We _never_ tell secrets, so don't worry."

When the little girl looked up, her face was wet with tears, sparkling against the pattern of freckles on her nose.

"Where's my daddy?" she said in her tiny voice, this time laced with much more dread. "He said he was coming back for me. Where is he?"

And it was the one question Mary couldn't answer. After all – what did she know about where dads went when they abandoned their daughters?

XXX

**A/N: I'm sure this will spike some ire with the introduction of Abigail – she's good at that, eh? ;) **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I am so glad I have people that are reading and/or reviewing. Makes me feel good, whether there are two of you or fifty.**

XXX

Cassidy was released from the inspectors' care before nine A.M. so she could get to school. Marshall had to take up the post of guard during the lunch hour leaving Mary bolted to her desk, a thought that thoroughly depressed her. After spending most of the afternoon with Marshall and Cassidy's foster family, she was bored to tears but also uncharacteristically tired, which made her infinitely more annoyed. That evening, she and Marshall packed up their things at the office after dealing with a handful of other witnesses. It was close to seven by the time they were headed home.

"So Marshall…" Mary began as she stuffed several stacks of papers into her bag.

"Hmm?" he answered absentmindedly, eyes still on his computer screen.

"Does…you and Abigail working together on the whole 'Cassidy thing' mean you told her what it is you do for a living?" she shouldered the tote and walked around to stand in front of his desk.

Marshall looked up; clearly both surprised a little offended.

"No," he stated so definitively, Mary knew in an instant he was telling the truth. "I told her this building was…kind of like a federal headquarters safe-house, if you will. Just a meeting place," he shrugged and continued, "She already knows I'm a Marshal; as far as she's concerned I'm just Cassidy's guard, like anybody else."

Mary pondered that for a moment, the bag growing heavier on her shoulder. As if she needed another pain to add to the fast-growing list. She slipped it off and onto her elbow to give the upper muscles some relief.

"Does it ever…?" she started to say, but changed her mind halfway through and decided not to go on. But she should've known Marshall wouldn't let her get away with a partially-formed thought.

"What?"

Mary hesitated and let the satchel pass into her fingers now, her knuckles closing around the strap. The chair Marshall had occupied that morning was still nearby. She pulled it out and took a seat in front of him.

"Well…I just wondered…" she shrugged and saw that he was hanging on to this, his piercing blue eyes on her green ones. "Does it bother you that you can't talk about your job now that you have a girlfriend?"

Marshall shook his head, a little bewildered as to why she was bringing this up and hit the button to shut down his computer, giving Mary his full attention.

"Why would it?" he asked. "I mean…my family doesn't know what I do; it comes with the gig."

"Yeah…" Mary murmured uncertainly, chewing on her lower lip. "But that's different. You come from Marshal's. Your family may not know _exactly_ what you're doing but at least they know it's important. Abigail thinks you're a messenger boy."

She knew she shouldn't blame Abigail for the situation, knew it did just as Marshall said, 'come with the gig.' But for some reason, she couldn't stand the idea that Abigail believed Marshall was some slouch hanging around drinking coffee at the courthouse. Never mind that-that was exactly what her mother and sister thought about her and probably always would.

"Mary, I didn't decide to work in witness protection to get a bunch of glory," he furrowed his brow, his face half-hidden in shadow since the room was only lit by his desk lamp. "Where is this coming from?"

That made the second question today she didn't have a clue how to answer. And Marshall would see right through it.

"Marshall, I just…" she let her eyes stray to the ground, embarrassed to look at him dead-on. The thought of what might come out of her mouth made her heart beat strangely fast and she decided she needed to end this before it began.

"It's nothing…forget it."

She stood up, the chair sliding out underneath her, and made for the doors but Marshall was too quick for her. Not surprising since she was about a hundred pounds overweight. Give or take.

He reached out and took her forearm, forcing her stop in her tracks. She whirled around to face him. There was a most peculiar look on his face – he appeared puzzled as well as intrigued.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" he asked.

"No," she said forcefully, trying to shake his grip off her. "I said forget it."

"Are you worried that Abigail doesn't appreciate me?" he pressed on, ignoring her completely.

"Please," Mary scoffed, yanking her arm free and rolling her eyes. "As if I give a damn about what that Trixie Belden thinks of you."

Marshall sighed and raised his eyebrows, indicating that he knew she wasn't being entirely truthful. But, she had let too much escape already and didn't have much desire to go any deeper with Marshall, especially not tonight. The events of the day were heavy on her mind and Cassidy's continual pleas for her father played like a gloomy, scratchy broken record in her subconscious.

"I have to get going," she continued, gesturing at the door. "Brandi and Peter ordered pizza for dinner but they're headed to a movie, so I promised I'd get back in time to eat with them."

"Good," Marshall nodded, letting the subject drop for the time being. "You shouldn't be alone when you're this far along."

"Give me a break!" Mary shouted, the aggravation inching its way into her voice. "I don't need a nursemaid. The sooner this kid comes, the better."

"Bite your tongue," Marshall advised as Mary headed for the door. "Ideally, you need to stretch at least another two weeks. The baby's barely three pounds right now. And…"

"Put a lid on it," Mary raised a hand to silence him. "Not right before I eat, okay?"

She opened the doors separating her from the elevator and waved over her shoulder as he gathered up his things.

"See you tomorrow!" she called.

Mary drove the ten minutes to her house trying _not_ to think about what she'd discussed with Marshall none-too-skillfully. She did her best to push it out of her mind, convincing herself Abigail could think what she wanted and it was Marshall's doing if he wanted to be tied down to some eternally-perky detective. That was their business – not hers.

But even as she drove, she thought of Marshall doing the same thing, his SUV taking him to the place he and Abigail had just bought together. The images pressed into her brain, melded into pictures she couldn't shake away no matter how she tried. It bothered her, but she didn't really know why.

She must've still been thinking about the pair of lovebirds when she walked into her house, dispensing with the key because she'd seen Peter's car in the drive meaning that he and Brandi were already inside.

"Hello!" Brandi sang from the kitchen before Mary scarcely had time to set foot on the threshold.

Heaving her bag onto the couch, she waggled her fingers absentmindedly in the general direction of Brandi's shout, but said nothing.

"Hi Mary," and there was Peter.

She looked up to see the pair of them standing at the island, a box of pizza open in front of them, a two liter of Coke half-empty on the counter. Some obnoxious song was playing on the radio, one she didn't recognize. She quickly told herself to get with it.

"Did you get pepperoni too?" she found herself asking, noticing it was just cheese on the table.

"Fine thanks and you?" Brandi laughed at Mary's less-than-cheerful hello and grabbed a plate from one of the cabinets while Peter chortled too.

"It's in the fridge," he reported. "We left the whole box for you," he continued as Mary made her way into the kitchen.

She was instantly grateful for her future brother-in-law and his ability to keep the food off Brandi's greedy paws. She patted his cheek lovingly and gave him a soft smile as Brandi grabbed the box out of the fridge. When she emerged, she caught sight of Mary's attire.

"Ooh!" she squealed, clapping her hands girlishly. "You're wearing the top I bought for you!" and she raced over to get a better look, fingering the cotton as though she'd never seen anything like it.

"Squish, cut it out," Mary batted her sister's hands away, not liking them so close to her belly. She was very self-conscious about such things and didn't like being treated like some proverbial Buddha.

"It looks so cute on you!" Brandi proclaimed, keeping her fingers to herself. "I didn't think you'd actually wear it."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Mary grumbled, opening the cardboard and slapping three pieces of pepperoni onto her plate. She took an enormous bite, ripping off half the slice in one tear. She'd never been known for discretion when it came to eating and she was starving.

"What the hell are you listening to?" she asked around a mouthful, nearly indistinguishable as she tried to swallow.

"Just the latest," Brandi shrugged and flounced over to Peter, swinging her arms around his neck from behind and kissing both his cheeks. He chuckled appreciatively and leaned back to peck her forehead.

All this romance in the evening was getting to Mary. First Marshall and Abigail with love in the morning, and now this.

She crossed the room and snapped the radio off, refusing to listen for another minute. Some pop star worshipped for her ability to string together a bunch of useless words wasn't something she needed this evening.

"You're in a fine mood," Brandi stuck a hand on her hip, the other around Peter as he tried to finish chewing his pizza with just a couple fingers. Mary wondered if it was normal to be that tolerant.

"Rough day," Mary said shortly, reaching for her second slice and lowering herself onto one of the two barstools, inching it over to the island so she could be closer to her guests.

Considering that what Mary had done for most of the day was sit around and listen to Marshall go over rules and regulations with Cassidy's foster family, 'rough' wasn't the word she would ordinarily use to describe the set of circumstances. No guns, no bombs, no throw-downs, hold-ups, or sneaking around with her partner. But little girls sans fathers never sat well with her. Add in Marshall and sickly-sweet Abigail and she was surprised she'd managed to get through the lunch hour.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Brandi asked. She always inquired even though she knew better.

Mary shook her head, using her cheeks full of cheese as an excuse not to answer.

"I'll be fine."

"You know Mary, you're looking a little tired," Peter observed. "Brandi and I can head out to the movie ahead of time if you want to turn in early."

Normally, Mary would snap at him for daring to say she looked fatigued, rebutting with all kinds of reasons why she was perfectly tip-top and could go all night if she had to. But for some reason, she found Peter's consideration endearing and resolved to be appreciative.

"No…" she shook her head for a second time. "I'm good – honest. What about you guys? Sell any hunks of metal today?"

She was able to tune out as Brandi prattled on endlessly about two cars she'd leased, down to the color of the buyer's eyes and the way he styled his hair. Peter stood lovingly at her side, reinforcing her brilliance and Mary's disdain shifted to a strange sense of loss. Brandi had grown up so much in the last year; Peter had done wonders for her. Pretty soon she was going to be married, maybe even having kids. And here was Mary – older, husbandless but already knocked-up and, for all intents and purposes except for the kid, in the same spot she'd been in ten years before. Complete with dwelling over aimless little girls and their daddies.

"Mary?" Brandi's hoarse tone brought her back and from the sound of it, she'd called her more than once.

Her fourth slice of pizza halfway to her mouth, Mary paused to look at her sister, fingers greasy.

"What?"

"Were you even listening?" she wanted to know.

_Of course she wasn't._

"Of course I was," she barked, feeling unnecessarily provoked by the question. "You guys better get going if you want to catch that movie."

And she took another bite of pizza in hopes of ending the discussion while Peter and Brandi exchanged an uncertain glance that they didn't bother to hide.

"I do like to watch the previews," Peter finally said.

Mary nodded, knowing he was going to aide his bride-to-be out of the house to give her some peace. He headed for the door, but Brandi hung back, looking tentative.

"You coming, hon?" he called from inside the frame.

Brandi was still looking at Mary, oddly sad and confused.

"Just let me grab my purse," she said.

"Okay," Peter agreed. "Night Mary."

"Night," she murmured quietly and he stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

She knew Brandi had stayed behind so she could get her alone and the idea didn't thrill her. She wasn't in the mood for some sort of deep discussion. Who knew what she might say with thoughts of abandoned children and happy couples? Combine that with her gnawing indecision about what to do concerning the creature in her uterus and she really couldn't trust herself to open her mouth at all.

Brandi shouldered her purse, which was sitting on the extra barstool and leaned on the counter so she and Mary were face-to-face. The closeness unnerved her she fought backing away.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, as though her fiancée might be listening at the door. "Peter's right; you do look tired."

"Jesus, if I listened to you two I'd start to think being called 'tired' was a compliment," she groused, swiveling her gaze to her plate.

"I just wanted to make sure…"

"Brandi, everything's fine. Really. It's just…hot and my feet hurt," she hoped this tiny bit of leeway would shut her up but she should've known better.

"I bet Peter has an extra fan," Brandi offered, shifting upright again. "We can bring it over after the movie."

"Whatever," Mary waved a vague hand and knew she still looked sour, so she decided to appease her sister. "But thanks."

Brandi was looking marginally more satisfied and slowly made her way to the door to meet Peter. She was halfway there before she turned around and spoke over her shoulder.

"Call if you need something?"

"I'm not an invalid," Mary reminded her, voice inching up a few notes in exasperation. "And I do know how to call the hospital if there's a problem, believe it or not."

Brandi sighed, looking a little hurt by her brazenness. Mary knew she only wanted to help but she was getting sick of being treated like a child.

"Sorry," Brandi muttered submissively. "Right."

She stood stationary in the living room while Mary scarfed down a fifth slice of pizza and downed it with a gulp of Coke, waiting for Brandi to give it up and get going. She was ready to reach into the box for another piece when Brandi jogged back to the island and unexpectedly pecked her cheek. It was so unprecedented that Mary didn't have time to bat her away. But she was ready to tell her to dispense with the theatrics when she got a look at her face. She looked resolute but sympathetic and placed a hand on Mary's shoulder.

"I love you, Mare."

It was simple and silly, but Mary was strangely touched by her baby sister's intuition.

"Thanks Squish."

XXX

**A/N: I enjoy me some Brandi – always have!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sounds like I made a couple of you sick with my pizza talk LOL!**

XXX

With Brandi's and Peter's departure, Mary settled herself on the couch to watch some mindless reality TV. But it only made her wish Marshall were there to make fun of the losers who auditioned for such a thing, like they did when they stayed in hotels together on the road. The longing made her grumpy and out-of-sorts and she dozed off watching, not bothering to get up and go to bed. Around 12:30 she came to enough to switch it off, but felt too heavy to move into the bedroom and slipped off to sleep again.

Around two A.M., something else woke her and she wasn't sure at first what it was. The light in the kitchen was still on, leaving her in semi-darkness as she squinted through the gloom wondering what had shaken her from her slumber. Leaning up on one elbow, she realized it was her cell phone vibrating, left out on the coffee table. She groped blindly, not wanting to move too much and closed her fingers around it. Choosing not to check the number, she leaned back into the throw pillows and answered.

"Hello?" she whispered, sounding croaky and rubbing her eyes with one hand.

There was no response at first, but she could tell someone was there. There was breathing on the other end of the phone, labored and trembly like the person might be crying.

"Hello?" she ventured again.

"Hello?" answered a small voice.

"Cassidy?"

"Uh-huh," the same voice this time, perhaps more timid than before.

"What's going on?" Mary was on the alert at once, sitting up all the way, fully ready to jump off the couch and into her car. As it was, her hand went immediately to the glock still strapped just above her swollen ankle that she'd forgotten to take off.

"Are you in trouble?" she pressed on.

A pitiful sniff came through the other end, followed by several more sobs, gut-wrenching and painful.

"Cassidy…" Mary tried to speak over her, tried to sound endearing. "Calm down," she implored. "And try to tell me what happened. Are you hurt; is something going on?"

The little girl took a moment to compose herself, not without a few more sniffles. Mary used the opportunity to lift herself higher into the pillows and knew immediately it was a mistake. Her innards shifted uncomfortably and she felt faintly sick. Maybe six slices of pepperoni and three glasses of Coke was a bit much. With this thought, the change in gravity brought the realization that she had to pee something awful and hoped Cassidy would spill soon.

"No," she finally said. "I'm not hurt."

"Then what's wrong?" Mary asked as sincerely as she could. People crying always hit her in a bad way but Cassidy was so innocent and defenseless she couldn't help but feel sorry for the kid.

"I can't sleep," she admitted quietly, her voice muffled under the tears she had shed. And then, "Mr. and Mrs. Bailey are really nice, but…"

She fell apart again and Mary could just picture her on the other end, shaking from the task of crying, all by herself in a pair of some garishly silky pink pajamas.

"Do they know you're on the phone?" Mary asked softly, wondering what had become of the foster parents at this hour.

Cassidy neglected to answer, too wrapped up in what she was about to tell Mary before she succumbed to the sobs.

"I want to see my dad. I need to see my dad - just one more time. He didn't do anything bad; I know he didn't!"

Mary sighed at the confession, her heartstrings dangerously close to severing right in two. The begging was killing her, and all for a man who may or may not be innocent. Suddenly, she had never wanted to come across a lawful human being more in her life. She hoped beyond reason this guy was decent and could come back for his little girl.

Before she could voice any of this, Cassidy was talking again.

"He's not bad!" she declared almost hysterically. "Grandpa was bad, but he isn't! He said after my mom died that he would _never_ leave me and he would _never_ lie!"

The certainty with which she punctuated 'never' hit Mary in the chest like a truck. She couldn't bear to tell this child her daddy might not be the hero she thought he was.

"Well…" she finally said, proceeding cautiously. "Dad's _shouldn't_ lie. I know that."

_Did she ever._

"Mary, he has to come back for me. He's all alone," she cried unashamedly, the sound starting to irk Mary now as she attempted to stay calm and not give in to the kinds of memories all this was evoking. She was the adult. She needed to remember that.

"Cassidy, listen to me," she began, soft but defiant. "Just listen for a minute."

She waited until she got herself under control again and continued.

"Your daddy isn't alone. Wherever he is, he's okay and someone's taking care of him. That I can promise you," she said definitively. "You believe me?"

In the back of her mind, she knew it didn't matter whether Cassidy believed her or not. Even if she did, Alex being taken care of wasn't the same as being with his little girl, wasn't the same as being a family or looking out for each other in a way that only families knew how to do. And from the sound of it, these two had only each other. What could replace something like that?

_Nothing_, Mary thought automatically. _Nothing in the world_.

"Are you sure?" Cassidy whispered, referring back to Mary's question.

"I'm sure," she nodded through the phone, her belly feeling full and tight now. She really wanted to get up and go to the bathroom.

"You gonna get some sleep for me?" Mary persisted.

Cassidy paused in thought; Mary could practically hear her considering her response.

"Could…we talk a little bit longer?" she asked politely. "Please?"

The manners did help, but Mary still had to pull in quite a bit of resolve to agree. Why, oh why, hadn't this kid called Marshall instead?

"Yeah," she murmured, hoping she sounded okay with it. "No problem."

But even as Mary agreed, Cassidy didn't seem to have anything else to say. She exhaled quietly through the phone, punctuated every now and then with a shuddering cry, but her drama seemed a little more manageable now. Mary knew she must be exhausted between everything she was going through and not getting the sleep she needed. If they were going to stay on the phone, Mary wanted to prompt conversation and get things cracking so she could get off.

"Is there anything else you need to tell me?" she encouraged.

Another hang-up; Mary waited.

"Could I ask you something?" Cassidy wondered. She didn't sound like she wanted to pose the question, like it was embarrassing her for some reason, but maybe not. Maybe she just wasn't used to dealing with grown-ups or putting her heart on her sleeve. Mary knew enough about that to understand.

"Yeah, sure," she told her in what she hoped was an obliging tone. She stretched her back into the throw pillows, praying she wouldn't wet her pants while she sat. When the question came, Mary considered that a distinct possibility.

"What's your daddy like?" the little girl whispered. "Is he nice?"

"Oh…" Mary let that one word escape while her mind buzzed furiously.

Strictly speaking, it didn't really matter what she said. She wasn't supposed to talk about her personal life with witnesses, so she could lie through her teeth and she was pretty sure Cassidy wouldn't know it and be satisfied. But the thought of her father almost always put her over the edge. He was just some vague and formless being now, nothing real or definite. But she couldn't deny she'd thought about him a bit more lately with the baby coming, decisions of giving the little one up heavy on her mind as she considered left-behind children and the heartache it caused.

Cassidy was apparently tired of waiting for a response, because she plowed on.

"I don't get it," she said, sounding perplexed as though she were in the middle of some difficult homework problem. "My grandpa wasn't nice at all – he yelled a lot and never took me places or did anything because he was always trying to get more money. But, my dad is the best dad there is. How come he's so great when my grandpa wasn't?"

The thoughts weren't very coherent, but Mary was pretty sure she understood. If we come from strife and turmoil, we turn into our own personal whirlwind of chaos. If we are spawned from greener grass, it stands to reason we'll grow up better because of it.

"Does that mean I'm not good?" Cassidy inquired curiously. "Like…it switches around? Grandpa was bad, but daddy was good, so I'm not?"

"No," Mary interrupted sharply, refusing to let this kid blame herself at such a young age for something she had no control over. "It doesn't work like that, Cassidy. We are who we are. We learn to be good or bad because of…what happens around us. You don't have to be anything you don't want to. You get to choose."

A pretty funny statement from someone who knew this girl was living under a fake name, and would for the rest of her life thanks to a bunch of maiming, cash-hungry losers.

Mary's words seemed to have a profound effect on the child because she was pretty sure she heard her crying again.

"I try _so hard_ to be good," she murmured thickly. "But it doesn't matter."

"No, that isn't true," Mary interrupted, sitting up all the way now, the pressure on her bladder long-forgotten or at least pushed to the rear of her mind for the time being. "It does matter. You are…" she cast around for the right word. "…Sweet and kind and that counts. Even if nobody else sees it."

"Nobody?" her voice was dejected and worn, hardly daring to believe she could be all those things and not have one person take notice.

"Not nobody…" Mary corrected herself hastily, perched on the edge of the couch. "I see it. And Marshall, I think he does too."

She figured it best not to bring Alex into it at this point, not knowing how stand-up or fall-down he might be. She knew all about little girls giving their fathers way more credit than they deserved. It was one thing she could definitely relate to.

But, however she tried to steer the conversation in another direction, it didn't waive Cassidy's thoughts one iota.

"I miss my daddy," she whimpered, tears fresh again. "I miss him so much."

Mary closed her eyes and sighed again, running a hand over her lids and trying to come up with any way she could to mend this fence. She was horrible with children and even worse with adults; nothing she said seemed to be helping. Somewhere deep down, she knew words weren't what this kid needed.

"Cassidy…" she whispered. "If your dad really loves you…he'll find a way to come back for you. I know it doesn't help anything right now, but I really hope you believe that."

The child sniffed and didn't answer.

"My daddy wasn't such a good guy," Mary decided to reflect upon her earlier question, hoping the insight would prompt some closure for the little girl. "But…I think I turned out okay anyway. What do you think?" she attempted a light laugh to maybe ease her charge's mind.

"What was wrong with him?" Cassidy wanted to know immediately.

"Who?"

"Your dad."

Now, that was a question. Where to begin? How long did the list span – transgressions of James Wiley Shannon.

"Well, he…" she paused and then continued, "He kind of had the same problems your grandpa did."

Cassidy gasped audibly, suddenly alarmed.

"Did he get killed too?"

"No!" Mary exclaimed, and it was under the precedence that she didn't want Cassidy to believe her father was going to end up the same way. But low in her heart she knew it was because she hated not knowing if James was still out there or not. His gambling could very well have landed him in a ditch somewhere and she knew it.

"No…he didn't," she calmed slightly. "But what I want you to remember is that even though my dad didn't really know how to take care of himself, I still do. I learned on my own and you can too if you have to. You can be anything you want. I can promise you that."

Sure, she could learn to hold herself up, yank in the boot-straps, saddle-up and power through, but did that mean she'd be happy? Did it mean she wouldn't forget sunnier days and better times, still wishing for it when the shadows loomed and the darkness turned to black?

Miraculously though, she heard Cassidy yawn and relief flooded Mary's soul, knowing goodbye wasn't far away.

"You get some sleep, okay?" she requested. "You'll want to do your best at school tomorrow."

"Okay…" the little girl said tiredly. "Night-night."

"Goodnight Cassidy."

Mary hung up and was instantly off the couch and racing for the bathroom with a speed she didn't know she still possessed. After reliving herself, she exited and saw from the time on her phone that it was 2:30 in the morning. Although she was sleepy and drained, she wasn't sure much more rest was going to come tonight. Her stomach was all cramped up from the half-dozen slices of pizza and her back had a nasty ache from dozing on the couch. Not to mention, thoughts of her father were always the best method to keep her awake. Combine that with indecision and uncertainty involving the child dancing in her uterus and she was lucky she'd managed to get any winks at all.

Settling herself back on the sofa, she decided to call Marshall and give him the update on Cassidy so he wouldn't get any surprises when he dealt with her later in the day.

The phone rang three times before he answered.

"Marshall," he groaned groggily, still sounding half-asleep.

"Hey, it's me," Mary knew he wouldn't have had time to check the ID in his stupor.

"Hey…" he managed with a grunt. "What's up? There a problem?"

It was a mark of the strength of their partnership that he didn't find it strange she was calling in the wee hours of the morning and even seemed to consider it routine.

"No…no problem," she told him swiftly. "I just thought you should know that Cassidy called me about a half hour ago – nothing's wrong. The kid's just wiped and confused and totally messed-up. I did what I could to talk her down."

"Mmm, good for you," Marshall murmured approvingly. "Anything else?"

"Nope," she replied and there was an awkward silence on the other end of the line. "What?"

"No, I just…" she could practically picture Marshall shaking his head in disbelief. "This wasn't something that could wait till morning?"

So, she was infringing on his life. Keeping him from much-needed rest. And God knew what else with Abigail in the bed next to him.

"Why?" Mary snarked efficiently. "Need your beauty sleep?"

"Ha-ha," Marshall chuckled dryly.

"No, really," she went on. "Did I wake Snow White from her enchanted, peaceful slumber…?"

"Are you referring to Abigail?" Marshall asked immediately, yawning halfway through. "I'll spare you the trouble of responding. You did not wake her; I am in the living room."

This bit of information was strangely unsettling to Mary. Had they had a fight? Was Abigail making him sleep on the couch? Thoughts of their conversation earlier whirled through her mind and she wondered if Marshall had brought that up when he'd arrived home.

"I conked out watching some hilariously stilted reality crap…" he jabbered in her ear; she could hear him popping his neck as he stretched. "Abigail got home late; I was already asleep."

An odd sensation fluttered in Mary's heart knowing they'd been doing the same thing at the same time, maybe even closing their eyes at the exact moment. The thought was startling. How in-sync could you get without tripping over each other?

"So…Cassidy's good, then?" he prompted when Mary didn't respond to his explanation.

She snapped back in, shaking her head as though to drive the thoughts away.

"Yeah, she's fine," she told him. "Misses her dad."

The silence wasn't random and Mary knew it. Marshall was dying to know what the two of them had talked about concerning fathers but he would never ask. He'd learned a long time ago not to breach the subject of James anymore. It made Mary extremely tense and on-edge, often pulling her out of such conversations all together so that she could get a grip on her emotions. He knew it was different with Brandi and Jinx. She was able to gloss all that over since she was the 'adult' in those relationships, but with Marshall she never cared to put up the façade, and usually tried to shut him down as quickly as possible.

"Sorry if she woke you," Marshall apologized for something else to say. "She is my witness and you need your rest."

"Yeah…" Mary murmured absentmindedly.

Part of her really wanted to just talk to Marshall, not throw up the walls and block him out but she didn't really know how. These possibilities tossed back and forth in her mind for awhile before she realized Marshall was speaking again.

"Mare?" he called softly.

"Hmm?" she chewed her thumbnail, one half of her mind on Marshall, the other on things much more difficult to decipher.

"You okay?"

_Not really._

"Uh-huh," she settled on. "Just uncomfortable as hell. Too much pizza and not enough stomach anymore."

"You do know the baby is not in your digestive system," Marshall reminded her and she actually laughed.

"That's what you think," she joked.

"Get some sleep," he advised. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll do my best. Night Marshall."

"Goodnight."

XXX

**A/N: Oh, what is Mary thinking? You never know!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sometimes I think my reviewers have better ideas than I do! You all could make six different tales out of just the first four chapters!**

XXX

The next day dawned bright and roasting. Mary could see the heat waves out her front window, warbling oddly as though in vibration against the mountains in the distance. The house had gone stuffy and stifling in the night, and she started to wish she'd taken Brandi up on her offer of bringing over a box fan. Her pajamas were sweaty and she couldn't wait to get in a quick shower before she dressed for work.

Unfortunately, a sharp knock on the door interrupted this plan. Mary sighed, regretting more and more that she'd not slept in her bed. Why she'd changed into pajamas, but crashed on the couch a second time had to have been the pregnancy frying her brain. Regardless, she lifted herself slowly upward and went to answer the rapping on the wood.

She knew even through the frosted glass who it was. She had half-a-mind to just not open up, but seeing as how the person on the other side had already spotted her, there wasn't much chance of them going away.

"Mom, why are you here?" she griped after unlocking the deadbolt. "It's eight o'clock in the morning."

"I'm well-aware of the time, sweetie," Jinx pranced past her daughter without being invited, carrying a bag of groceries which she promptly took to the kitchen.

"By all means, come in…" Mary said under her breath, shutting the door behind her.

"And I am not fooled," Jinx continued in a maddeningly superior voice as she unloaded the sack she'd brought in. "Some days you're already at work before this ungodly hour, so I knew you'd be awake."

"What, are you watching the house?" Mary pattered back into the kitchen, feeling hot and gross. Jinx's presence didn't help the sensation; she became confined and trapped with her around because she sensed she was in for some sort of lecture.

"Some people call that spying, mom," she pressed on in an accusatory tone.

Jinx fed her an exasperated look, but said nothing. Mary noticed she was wearing sweats, but they weren't like the ones she used to don when she'd lived under this roof. They were fairly attractive – stylish royal blue athletic Capri pants, and a fresh white T-shirt with some sort of official-looking logo in the corner. Her hair was up – off her neck – Mary guessed because of the heat.

"You Jane Fonda now?" she ventured, perusing the contents of the grocery bags, which were all lined up on the counter.

There were three cartons of ice cream – one chocolate, one vanilla, and one strawberry. There were also Popsicles and several bags of fruit; oranges, apples, even a tray of sliced watermelon. Ordinarily, Mary would've been devouring the lot if her insides weren't still protesting her choice of food the night before.

"What - this?" Jinx plucked at her shirt in response to Mary's inquiry. "I'm taking the girls from the studio to a dance competition in Roswell today. The bus leaves at nine."

"Hmm – alien country," Mary observed, turning over a ripe looking orange and wondering if her stomach could handle some breakfast. "Seems fitting, somehow…"

"Very funny, dear," Jinx waved an absent hand, pulling a jug of milk out of the bag and going to put it in the fridge.

"Just a…quick question here; clearly, it's not overly important but…" Mary shook her head sarcastically and went on, "Is there a reason you are invading my home with sustenance? Is this like the Trojan horse? Beware of Greeks bearing gifts?"

"Brandi called last night," Jinx reported, hands fluttering about her face as she made her way back to the counter. She leaned over on her elbows, staring into Mary's skeptical, narrowed eyes.

"Snitchy Squish," Mary resumed her scowl as she waited for Jinx to continue.

"She's just trying to help," her mother implored.

"Help with _what_?!" Mary exploded, throwing up her hands. "I'm fine – perfectly fine! And that's what I told her! It's what I keep telling Marshall! Doesn't _anybody_ listen?!"

"Mary, this is hardly an intervention," Jinx walked around the counter now and extended a reassuring arm in hopes of calming Mary's testy demeanor so early in the morning. "Brandi just said you were looking a little worn-out and noticed before you got home that you didn't have much to eat. So I thought I'd drop a few things by before my trip. It's no big deal."

In the very deepest recesses of her mind, Mary realized that Jinx's thoughtfulness was completely unprecedented and really deserved to be noted. She forever believed her mother and sister thought about no one but themselves, their wants, their needs, but here both of them had put her first.

Before she could put any of this into a not-too-sappy thought, Jinx was placating her again.

"Sweetheart, I know how busy you are," she shrugged, her hand still on Mary's shoulder. "This is one less thing for you to worry about. I'll only be gone a couple days; you know everyone around here just started school and the girls can't miss much."

"Mom…" Mary shook her head, spared the task of expressing her gratitude. "Roswell's two hours away; that ride on a school bus is gonna be murder."

"Oh, I'll be all right," she shrugged unconcernedly. "Heat doesn't get to me."

"Lucky you," Mary muttered disdainfully.

"Mary, honey…" Jinx suddenly turned sugary once more and Mary sighed, feeling even more conspicuous in her damp pajamas, hoping her mother didn't notice.

Jinx patted her hair lovingly, twirling a few strands with her fingers before continuing.

"Please just take care of yourself, okay?" she asked sweetly. "I know…"

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Mary could tell Jinx was trying to get the words out just right. One thing she had definitely inherited from her mother – both of them could botch anything with one simple phrase. A Shannon family trait.

"I know…" she shrugged as she began again. "You're meeting with the adoptive family in a few days and even if you don't think so, that's going to be a little bit stressful. I just want you to watch your step, okay?"

Admittedly, Mary never believed her mother possessed any intuition about the workings of her daughter's mind, so how had she pegged this one from a mile away? The thought made her cranky and irritable, but at the same time she had to admire Jinx's ability not to push as far keeping the baby was concerned. She'd been true to her word on supporting the decision, but she was a lot-less skilled than Marshall at concealing her hopes and dreams for what might've been her grandchild.

Mary nodded in response, choosing not to say anything.

"Now…" Jinx pranced back to the counter, satisfied with Mary's reaction. "I got you all sorts of good food to help you cope with the heat. Oh lord, when I was pregnant with Brandi that summer of '79…" she chuckled reminiscently, shaking her head at the memory. "You can't imagine the kind of things I made your father run to the store for…"

The mention of James made Mary's heart twinge uncomfortably, but she stepped over to her mother anyway and let her go on.

"I practically lived on ice cream," she was saying, and she presented Mary with an entire carton, holding it in both hands like a display at the market.

Smiling softly, Mary took the box, still coated with a few ice crystals from the freezer at the grocery store. She tried to picture Jinx some thirty-two years younger, enormously rotund while she ran around the duplex they'd lived in. In reality, she knew the memory didn't exist. She'd spent most summers outside begging the neighborhood boys to let her play in their baseball games, but no one wanted the bossy Shannon girl with the sloshed mom and dead-beat old man.

"So I got you some of that!" Jinx twittered on. "And some Popsicles. But, you have to promise to eat the fruit too; it's good for you."

"Yes mom, I know…" Mary muttered obligingly, but she was starting to feel a little more gratitude for her and she knew Marshall would appreciate the stuff stocked with Vitamin C.

"Oh, look at the time!" Jinx exclaimed, noticing the clock on the microwave and dropping the apple she'd been showing Mary. "I gotta get down to the studio. Wish me luck, darling!"

She flew around the counter, smiling excitedly, her lipstick bright but not-too-bright – a nice change for Jinx. It still amazed Mary sometimes, trying to see her mother as a grown-up. She was put-together, level-headed, and sober. And that last one accounted for the whole package.

Her introspection must've turned her expression vague because Jinx softened her gaze, leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the cheek just as Brandi had done the night before.

"You be a good girl, okay?" part of her tone was teasing, part of it serious as she glanced low to catch Mary's eye.

"Sure, mom," she tried to sound annoyed to save face. "Thanks for the food."

"What are mothers for!" she sang as she flounced back to the door. "You call your sister or Marshall if you need something, you hear?!"

"Get out!" Mary called back. "And hey – don't blame me if you have a heat stroke on that exhaust-sucking bus!"

Jinx was still cackling when she slammed the door shut. Alone now, Mary gave the food the once-over and headed to put the ice cream and Popsicles in the freezer. She was on the verge of tossing the fruit in the fridge when her phone rang from across the room. Lumbering ungracefully to the coffee table to grab it, she saw that it was Marshall.

"Hey," she greeted him, panting slightly from her quick jaunt. "What's up?"

"You all right?" he asked without saying hello. "You sound out-of-breath. Not practicing Lamaze, are you?"

"God, no," Mary scoffed just picturing those women with their stupid displays of huffing-and-puffing. "The day I pant like a dog with a bunch of weak-willed pansies is the day you hike up enough testosterone to grow a beard like a real man."

"Clever," Marshall said dryly.

"I just ran from the kitchen to catch the phone, grandma," she reported. "So what's up?"

"Nothing earth-shattering yet," her partner continued.

"Yet?"

"Well…" he hesitated; Mary could hear him typing on his keyboard. "The bookies that ended up dead in the Cassidy case are part of a bigger ring of gamblers than we thought. It stretches as far as Chicago and they aren't known for going quietly after they get their dough."

"Let me guess," Mary picked up the thread. "They pick up the cash, and to ensure their guys don't talk…"

"Dead on arrival," Marshall confirmed. "Grab the money, kill, and run. Cassidy's grandfather was no rare case, but these guys aren't amateurs. Till the kid spotted them through the window, no one else was willing to rat them out."

"So, what does this mean for us?" Mary asked, wondering how she and her fellow inspector fit in, as well as Cassidy herself.

"This…gambling circle, if you will, still has several members at large and a couple caught a flight down to New Mexico yesterday morning."

"Shit," Mary cursed and rubbed her eyes. The last thing she wanted was Cassidy unsafe but being relocated again might tear her right in two. For whatever reason, she couldn't bear to send her away.

"So, do we tighten down security?" Mary wondered, trying to halt any suggestions Marshall might have of shipping the little girl out already.

"Pretty much," he surprised her by agreeing. "The good news is, her dad's been all-but cleared of any involvement in the gang and as soon he is, he'll be on a plane down here."

"Well, that's something," Mary was grateful for the little piece of good fortune. "Talk more at the office?" she was anxious to get to the shower.

"Yeah, just one more thing," Marshall said. "I've got something going with the Stone brothers this afternoon – tying up loose ends – and ABQ PD doesn't have a guard for the afternoon shift at Cassidy's school. You think you could look in on her?"

The offer was so amazingly tantalizing, Mary was surprised she didn't start salivating.

"And you don't think the big, bad bookies will come and shoot me up while I waddle around after a bunch of rug rats in a place as tight as Fort Knox?" Mary had worked at the elementary before and knew how tight the building was locked-down, especially if she or Marshall made a point of negotiating with the district office and principal.

"So long as you don't blast them first," he joked.

"Mmm, the bookies or the rug rats?"

"Get to work," he ordered, wrapping things up. "And be careful."

"Sure thing, Clara Barton," she joshed. "See you in an hour."

"Copy that," and he slapped his phone shut.

XXX

**A/N: As with Brandi, I love me some Jinx too. I admit though, it took me a lot longer to warm up to Jinx on the show. Couldn't have it without her now!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks for returning to read/review each day! Plot is a-comin'!**

XXX

Something about grade schools gave Mary the willies. Not so much the willies as full-blown hives, which only led to hyperventilation and paranoia.

And for what? It was just a big brick building housing a bunch of messy munchkins. What was there to fear? The idea took her back to a phrase of Marshall's – she wasn't _scared_ of the big round rugs and alphabet on the wall; it wasn't irrational.

But whatever it was-was difficult to pin down. Something about being inside made her nervous. All the merriment, all the giggles, bright colors and sloppy artwork – the overused praise and the force-field of positivity. And of course, there was the flip-side of all that as well. Factor in the whining, the defiance, the dirt these kids tracked around and the way they never seemed to stop talking or bouncing out of their chairs.

As Mary stood outside the window of Cassidy's first grade classroom, she pondered all this, watching the little girls' peers and saw something different about her charge. Maybe it was because she knew better, because to the naked eye she was just like the others – dressed in a pair of knit lime green shorts and a matching T-shirt printed with yellow hearts, a decorative little pocket in the corner. Her shiny auburn hair was up in a bouncy-looking ponytail and she was paying rapt attention, determined to do her best. But a melancholy, dismal look lingered behind her eyes; she could tell her heart just wasn't in it.

Mary pushed open the door reluctantly and was struck with the recollection that earlier this morning she'd actually been excited to do this. Was that what her field work had come to? Playing sentinel in the back of a noisy classroom, like she really was that coffee-gulping envoy her family believed her to be?

The teacher, a Mrs. Larson somewhere in her early thirties, inclined her head slightly as she entered but didn't pause in her lesson about adding bananas. Several of the kids turned and started to whisper, but Mary ignored them. She kept her eye on Cassidy, who had been through so many rounds of 'not breaching the veil of WITSEC' with Marshall that she knew better than to wave. A soft smile played about her lips though and she appeared slightly more cheerful, sitting a little higher in her seat.

"Boys and girls, let's remember to listen…" the teacher instructed in a voice of forced-calm.

With recess and lunch having just ended, the little ones were antsy and unfocused and Mary didn't really see the point of expecting much out of them. The whole thing took her back to her own youthful days of elementary school – told to listen, told to sit down, told to line up or go to the restroom or be nice or share her toys. She'd never enjoyed being bossed around, but it was the deeper memories that haunted her. Kids who wouldn't sit with her because they knew she lived with the mad drunk lady in the crappy duplex. Being called names and never having play dates like the other children. And she'd been in first grade when her father had left.

Maybe the mystery of her elementary-hate wasn't such a mystery after all.

"Justin, turn around please…" Mrs. Larson interrupted her thoughts once more.

"Who's that?" the little boy called Justin wanted to know, jerking his thumb to the back, indicating Mary.

"Never mind," his teacher shook her head. "Right now, we're talking about counting. Remember – we have three bananas and…"

Mary lingered in the back, tuning this out, and playing with her cell phone which became very useless very fast. She knew from past experience that her phone never worked in the building. It was an older complex; two stories not including the basement and her signal always went haywire. On occasion she'd receive a call but she couldn't dial out for anything. It was irritating her and there was nothing to do but stand and watch, something she was thoroughly horrible at carrying out.

Once Mrs. Larson equipped the rug rats with some boring-looking worksheets, she dashed to the back of the room to greet her guest in a much-less perky manner.

"Hello," she said in a breathless whisper, throwing her hand out in an obligatory way. "Rebecca Larson."

"Mary Shannon," Mary barely grasped her fingers before letting go, knowing the gesture was half-hearted anyway. "I'll be with you 'till 1:30, and then my partner should be back."

"Oh, Mr. Mann?" the woman suddenly went pink in the cheeks, a sight that made Mary extremely ill-at-ease.

Was this how women usually reacted around Marshall? Was he some sort of…catch?

_Egad_.

"Marshall, yes," she responded as quickly as she could. "He just had something to take care of."

"I don't have a clue who's coming in on any given day," Mrs. Larson continued in a harassed-sounding whisper.

"The job is fairly unpredictable," Mary responded, trying not to sound overly superior, but it wasn't easy.

"I understand, but it's so distracting for the students; they don't have any idea what's going on…"

"And it needs to stay that way," Mary reminded her sharply, and lowering her voice considerably, "We're not flashing badges and guns around here; Cassidy needs to stay as inconspicuous as possible."

"I understand, of course…" she said again, but her tone wasn't very convincing. "But…the people from the police department said the threat isn't imminent…"

"Well…no…" Mary answered, wondering whether she ought to reveal that two of the bookies had made their way into the state and had yet to be captured. But even Marshall hadn't been worried about that and little good could come from her blowing the secret. Teacher Jane was jittery enough as it was.

"Don't concern yourself," she decided on. "Just go about your routine; do your job. That's the best help you can be to us."

Mrs. Larson wrung her hands nervously, but nodded in a resigned sort of way and glided away to monitor among the students, pausing to correct problems and reprimanding those that were talking. Mary stayed by the door, glancing out every few minutes, but everything seemed quiet – as it was supposed to be. She'd never had a more boring day of supposed 'field work.' It was mind-numbing and she was glad for the distraction when Cassidy wandered up, chewing on her pencil.

"What's up?" Mary asked roughly.

"Will you sit at the round table with me?" she asked innocently.

"What for?" Mary wrinkled her nose.

"I just wanted to tell you something," she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, looking shy but determined.

"And it has to be at the table?" Mary inquired.

Cassidy shrugged, digging her teeth into the wood of the pencil. Mary cringed just watching her do it, but her request was starting to sound a little inviting. Her feet were swollen and they had begun to ache; the glock strapped to her calf was digging into her sore muscles and she'd started feeling heavy with the effort of standing. Not surprising.

"Be quick," she cautioned the little girl and she nodded, skipping to a circular table at the back of the room amongst some drying art projects of red and yellow leaves.

Cassidy yanked out a tiny chair and Mary suddenly saw this as highly problematic. There was no way she was lowering herself that far to the ground in her state of affairs, and she doubted the chair would even hold her. Try that, and she'd never get back up. Instead, she perched on the edge of the table itself so she was staring down at Cassidy over her enormously mountainous belly. A couple more weeks and she'd be the next Everest.

"Okay, what?" she asked quietly.

Some of the kids were staring, but she heard Mrs. Larson fabricating some story, telling them Mary was just a friend helping Cassidy get used to her new school. They seemed to accept this without too much complaint and eventually their wandering eyes drifted back to their papers.

"I forgott-ed to tell you something last night."

Mary bit back a laugh at the term, 'forgott-ed' and merely nodded.

"What's that?"

"I didn't tell you thank-you," she responded meekly.

So much appreciation from such a little girl and with so much going on unexpectedly touched Mary's heart, and she let her mouth fall open part-way in her surprise. Cassidy was looking at her, slightly red from embarrassment but she also looked resolute. This wasn't the first time she'd done this and Mary was hard-pressed to wonder where she'd learned such good manners.

"Cassidy…" Mary whispered delicately. "We can talk some more later when you're not at school…" she stole a glance at the teacher and pressed on, "You don't need to say thank-you. It's mine and Marshall's job to help you and we do it because we want to."

"My dad says…" Cassidy began, twirling her pencil in her fingers now. "When someone does something for you, you should always say thank-you. Even if it's really-really-really-really little."

Not exactly chock-full of wisdom, but Mary had to admire the child's ability to hang onto it at a time like this and she suddenly remembered Marshall's news that Alex would soon be on his way to New Mexico to be with his daughter. Suddenly, Mary couldn't wait to share the information even though she knew she shouldn't. Cassidy had gone by-the-book and done remarkably for someone her age; she'd never spill the secret and he'd be here in no-time at all.

"I have something I forgot to tell you too," Mary began, not quite using her charge's unique phrasing.

"What?"

Mary leaned in, squashing her tummy painfully but she chose to ignore it. Her voice was hushed – desperate to get her message across but knowing she had to keep it as concealed as possible.

"Your dad…"

But her ethereal tone was slashed into pieces as a violent, horrendous squawking filled the room. Cassidy jumped - her eyes wide with alarm.

"Jesus!" Mary exclaimed, her abdomen not thanking her for the abrupt return to a normal sitting position.

Fortunately, the rest of the class didn't seem to notice her slip of the tongue because they were all chattering excitedly, dropping their crayons and pencils with glee.

"Fire drill!" they shouted, almost in unison. "Fire drill!"

Mary looked around wildly and saw a red box up toward the ceiling, a tiny bulb attached that was blinking silver, strobe-like around the room. The noise was deafening – a ghastly, one-note screech that echoed and reverberated against the cinderblock walls. Out in the hall, the same sound played over-and-over making it a thousand times worse.

Mary was about to ask if this had already been on the agenda before she'd arrived, when Mrs. Larson dashed over looking harried and distraught. Mary beat her to the punch.

"What the hell's going on?!" she shouted, not bothering to watch her language because the kids were too wrapped-up to care.

"I don't know…!" the woman admitted, marginally hysterical. "It could be a drill but Mr. Wallsmith always tells us beforehand if we're going to be having one…"

Mr. Wallsmith was the principal and this tidbit was all the information Mary needed. This was a set-up – an ambush – and the target was sitting with her right now. Cassidy was in jeopardy. There was no guessing where those bookies were now. They were here and they wanted her witness; Marshall's witness.

In an instant, she kicked it into high-gear, her senses tingling with the familiarity of a dangerous situation. Without looking at her, she yanked Cassidy to her side, making sure she could feel her against her skin.

"Get your kids out – buddy-them up, wherever your designated exit is – and go from there," Mary ordered her frantic teacher.

"What about Cassidy?" she stole a glance at the little girl, who was looking so afraid Mary almost wanted to pick her up, hold her even closer than she already was.

"I've got her; don't worry. Worry about this bunch; they're going bat-shit crazy on you."

The kids were completely out-of-control, out of their desks, throwing paper balls and nowhere near the door.

"Does this have to do with her?" Mrs. Larson asked in a tone far-too underscored for the obnoxious shrieking going on in the background.

"I said forget it!" Mary demanded firmly. "She'll be safe – she's with me! That's why we're here for Christ's sake! I'm sure somebody just saw something suspicious and pulled the alarm; with any luck we'll have the bastards before we even get outside."

Mary knew the alarms would set off signals at ABQ PD, which would get Marshall and Stan on the scene too, as soon as Abigail gave them the head's-up. She cursed her inability to use her phone in this wretched prison, and knew she just needed to figure the safest way to get Cassidy out while trying not to blow her career to hell in the process when the media showed up.

"You really think that's…" Rebecca began, but Mary's declaration was shot down at once when one of the boys shouted from the door.

"Mrs. Larson – Mrs. Larson! There's smoke! There's smoke in the hallway!"

_Oh, God._

"Adam, get inside!" the teacher finally took action. "Boys and girls, line up! Quickly! Find a partner and hold onto their hand – no talking!"

Seizing Cassidy to her side, Mary extended her palm to keep Mrs. Larson from exiting and raced as quickly as she could to the double doors separating them from the hallway. The little girl was trembling against her, completely speechless.

Easing the door open ever-so-slightly, Mary saw that the boy called Adam had been right. Smoke was billowing outside the doors, but it was worse in the direction of the library where the stairs wound to lead to the upper grades. With a jolt of her heart, she saw flames crackling against the steps, felt the warmth rise and knew it wouldn't be long before they traveled to their end. As this thought entered her mind, the sprinklers splashed on, their sounds mixing crudely with the blare of the alarm.

Mary pulled back, clutching Cassidy, her hand itching to grab the gun strapped onto her back belt loop but she held off. That wouldn't help against flames.

"You're not far from the front door," Mary informed Mrs. Larson, the school's emergency escape routes running through her mind. "Get them out – tell them to crawl on the floor if the smoke gets overwhelming, but you should be okay."

Mrs. Larson nodded and ran to the front of the line to take charge.

"You sure you'll be all right?" she asked one last time, and this round her eyes weren't on Cassidy, but on Mary's stomach.

"We're trained to do this; everything will be fine," she assured her.

With that, Mrs. Larson corralled her students in two's out the door and the whole lot of them were now looking thunderstruck with fear. Students from the adjoining rooms were starting to file out as well, and it didn't take long for the whole ordeal to become complete chaos. Kids began to run and started tripping over each other, knocking one-another to the floor in their rush to get out – girls crying, boys shouting, people calling to friends and siblings.

Mary, Cassidy pinned to her side, tottered in her heels upstream, against the flow of the kids trying to get out the front door. There was no way she could take her out that way – whoever was looking for her would either be in the building, trying to nab her amongst the bedlam, or expecting the marked exit routes. She had to find a way to pull her from the fray and get a hold of Marshall as quickly as possible.

"Mary, what's happening?!" Cassidy cried from below her as they ran from her class and the wailing students.

"Just stay close to me – stay close to me!" Mary told her without answering the question.

She felt the little girl's hand tighten around her own and Mary wondered whether she was skilled enough to dart amongst the flames.

Before today, running face-first into the fire had been her motto. But, it was a lot easier to do when she didn't have to stare-down the heat with a desperate, dependent child at her side.

XXX

**A/N: Oh, what a dilemma! It all starts here, folks! ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Wow! You all just showered me with reviews on that last chapter! You're awesome! I hope you won't shoot me for how I drag this out though… ;)**

XXX

It didn't take long for the smoke to overcome Mary and Cassidy, and Mary was quickly shoving the kid to the floor, telling her to put her face to the ground – literally have her nose to the grindstone. Mary refused to crawl so she could stay alert and likely couldn't even if she wanted to. The sheer size of her stomach prevented such a thing and so she braved the swelling clouds, coughing as she did her best to duck through them, all the while whispering instructions to Cassidy.

The crowd thinned as they drove the opposite direction, but the heat was unbelievable. Flames were licking the stairs as they reached them and Mary was instantly grateful that the upper classrooms had ways out through their windows. Still, this definitely prevented them from using that direction for their own escape.

"Mary!" Cassidy cried from the ground as the blaze took out the posts in the steps, crumbling to pieces in front of their eyes. "It's hot!" she coughed as she lifted her head.

"Stay down there!" Mary ordered, kneeling painfully; hand on the child's head. The effort made her cough too and the muscles in her abdomen tightened in protest.

She knew at once they had to get out of this area; much longer they'd be passing out from the fumes if the bonfire didn't char them to bits first. Mind working furiously, Mary remembered the basement which housed the kitchens and equipment closets. She knew there was some sort of window from her previous dealings with the grade schools, but for the life of her couldn't recall where it led to. Obviously, it was below ground-level but it might open onto the playground or side drive. She could try it, but what happened if they got stuck down there if the flames converged on the rest of the school?

"Get over here – over here, now!" Mary made her decision and yanked Cassidy up and around the stairs, careful to avoid the fire. Cassidy squealed, terrified, as they came close but Mary sheltered her in her chest, determined not to let her be burned.

"Stay with me…!" she demanded, and she took her down the hall behind the stairs which led to kindergarten. There was more smoke here, but fewer flames and from what Mary could discern, whoever the arsonist was had started their party in the library which was engulfed in the room beyond. The inferno had yet to spread to their current location.

The inspector pushed her charge back to the floor to crawl as they both coughed in the presence of more fumes. This hall was deserted, the kindergarteners having rushed to the front, and she saw the huge wooden door leading to the basement halfway between rooms on the opposite side of the wall. Pulling it open, she made sure to slip in ahead of Cassidy, concealing her beneath her back. She shut the door and immediately pulled her glock on the first step of the stairwell.

"Stay quiet…" Mary instructed softly. She thought it highly unlikely those idiotic gamblers had made their way down here, but she couldn't be sure.

Shutting the door helped to block out the smoke, but it was dark and steamy down below, damp from the sprinkler water seeping through the old floorboards. Mary made her way down into the dimly lit area, full of basketballs, nets, and other assorted gym equipment. The kitchens were beyond, separated by two sets of double doors. It was like being in a strange, eerie spotlight and Mary heard Cassidy gasp as they stepped into the light and she caught sight of her gun.

"It's okay…" she whispered, smoothing the little girl's hair, which was soaking from the sprinklers. She knew her own was the same way; it was curling in ringlets around her face.

Mary did her best not to react badly. She wasn't a fan of basements, not since her experience with Spanky and his cohorts. They brought on all sorts of harrowing memories and she did her best to swallow them.

"Listen…" Mary finally looked at Cassidy, her cheeks smudged and sooty, ponytail askew now. "Sit down…" she indicated a strung-up tetherball pole mounted by a tire. "Holler – loud – if you see anything. I'm just gonna take a look around."

Cassidy nodded and did as she was told, trembling nervously as she perched on the tire. The silence was unnerving, punctuated every now and then by the steady drip-drip-drip of the leaky ceiling. It was an old school and it was deteriorating fast under the attack. A sudden cracking noise sounded from above and Mary looked up, dread in the pit of her gut as it sounded like the roof was about to cave in.

"Sit tight…" she whispered to Cassidy. "I'll just be a second."

Gun raised at the ready, she inched into the kitchens, which were practically empty as lunch had just concluded. Huge silver rolling carts was all there was to see, and after giving them the quick once-over she determined there was no place for anyone to hide. She made her way back to the storage room to see Cassidy hugging her knees in fright, rocking back and forth.

Mary stored her gun back in its belt loops, the handle cutting painfully into her back and immediately pulled out her cell phone to see if, by some miracle, she could call Marshall. As expected, there was no signal.

"God damn it…" she cursed, fruitlessly trying to jam in her partner's number anyway, but it was nothing doing. She wouldn't be able to phone him until they were outside.

Giving this up for the moment, she spotted just what she'd been looking for – relief flooded her entire body. There weren't one, but two windows at the far end of the room set high into the wall, miniscule, but they were there nonetheless. Trying to see over a rack of soccer balls, she ascertained that they opened up and onto some sort of abandoned-looking courtyard with sad-looking picnic tables. She could get Cassidy out by helping her climb onto the storage cart and coach her out the panes.

But Mary would never make it. The hatch was far too small even at her usual, non-pregnant size, but at this point there was no way. This meant she would have to send Cassidy out on her own _and_ with a way to contact someone once she got there. That meant giving up her cell phone.

She didn't think twice. She did whatever she deemed necessary to protect her witness – even if the witness was really Marshall's, because she knew he would do the same. She trusted this kid to do what she was ordered and not screw it up – she hadn't so far. Besides, once Marshall got her, he would take the phone. Whoever was looking for Cassidy wouldn't find her in such a secluded spot; they had likely tried to grab her among all the madness and had already missed their chance. For all intents and purposes, she was safe. Mary would just have to find another way to get herself out.

"Cassidy…" she began, stepping over to the little girl, who was looking extremely apprehensive.

Mary kneeled with a groan, placing a hand on the child's knee.

"Here's what we're gonna do…"

But before she could explain, the same snapping sound emitted from overhead and they both looked up to see the beams bending, splintering above them. Mary heaved Cassidy off her post and hurried her to the other end of the room. Time was of the essence – there was no glossing it over now.

"Cassidy, listen carefully," she tried to start again, taking her by the shoulders, seeing her horrified face.

"You're gonna go out that window…" Mary pointed, "You're gonna have my phone and you're gonna call Marshall and he will come and get you. I'll stand right below until he gets here."

"You're not coming out with me?!" she was flabbergasted, the idea completely insane as Mary pushed the cell into her hands.

Mary shook her head, "I don't fit, but you're gonna be okay; Marshall will take care of you and then he'll take care of me."

_That was all her ever did._

"But…" Cassidy started to say when the shattering reached its limit.

A whole part of the ceiling collapsed, grinding against the beams and Mary instantly felt the heat again – the flames had done their job, lapping up the ancient wood and leaving the pair of them trapped. Cassidy screamed as the roof tumbled and the grisly orange glow filled the room. It was now or never.

"Cassidy, you've gotta go – you've gotta get out!" Mary told her, shaking her shoulders in trying to make her understand. She was just a little girl – how could she possibly understand?

Cassidy was crying now as Mary led her across the part of the room that was still in-tact, tried to help her leg-up onto the cart of soccer balls, but she was resisting with every effort, flailing in fright and confusion.

"No!" was all she shouted. "No!"

"Cassidy – CASSIDY!" Mary bent down again as quickly as she could as the flames continued to dance from above, the smoke returning in full-force.

She held her big brown eyes in hers, wide with huge, fat tears, round in the corners. She stared them down, willing her to grasp what needed to be done.

"I'm not gonna let you get hurt – get out and call Marshall!"

She continued to sob, shaking her head, eyes unable to stray from the blaze raging toward them.

"I want my dad!" she wailed, and the request was gut-wrenching to Mary. She was little, lost, and alone – fearing for her life, in a strange city with strange people and she just wanted the one person she was certain she could trust. Mary believed in the little one's dad more in that moment than she had since they'd met.

"You've gotta be brave," she said, still holding her shoulders. "You already know how to be a brave girl; just do it one more time and you'll get to see your daddy. I promise. Just one more time."

Cassidy didn't answer, but she allowed Mary to hoist her onto the rack, directing her feet into the proper spots. The effort was no easy feat for Mary, her chest tight, feet throbbing, belly pounding in agitation. She held the back of the little girl as she maneuvered the window open, careful she wasn't going to slip and fall. The ledge was still a little high - Cassidy would have to jump to reach it.

She looked back at Mary, face streaked with ash and tears.

"I'm scared…" she whimpered, but Mary patted her back, heart beating rapidly as the smoke started to become overwhelming.

"Go!" she urged her. "Jump high and crawl out – you can do it."

"Mary, I can't…"

"Yes, you can! Quick – go!"

And Cassidy bounded – fingers latching onto the sill. She pushed up with her feet, wiggling her tummy against the wall as she struggled to crawl through, but Mary knew even as she strained that she was going to make it. Her sneakers were disappearing beyond the ledge as Mary reminded her what to do.

"Call Marshall! Cassidy – call Marshall!"

But Mary could scarcely see anymore, the smoke flowing and clouding against her vision. She staggered back the way she had come in, hoping with everything she had that Cassidy would remember the protocol pounded into her brain.

And as the ceiling continued to cave and Mary resumed her cough as she bolted for the exit, she realized she'd gotten one child out safely. What could she do for the one thudding it's feet inside her belly?

XXX

**A/N: Plausible? Probable? I really hope so! And hope you're enjoying the tension too!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: You all are too good to me. I am cherishing your reviews. I miss them so much when I'm not posting, and you never let me down when I start something new.**

XXX

The sirens screamed, one after the other, splashing the streets and surrounding grass red and blue with their entrance. Children were sobbing and clinging to each other, whining for their mothers and friends they couldn't find. Teachers bustled among them, trying to comfort, trying to account for everyone while attempting to keep it together themselves. The classes congregated on the outer edge of the building near the street, smoke whirling and evaporating in the atmosphere as one end of the school remained engulfed in flames.

Marshall scarcely saw the firemen dive from their trucks, extend their hoses and ladders. He was frantic with worry, Stan beside him radioing in Abigail's arrests to ABQ PD. She stood nearby, trying to calm her boyfriend but he couldn't even see her.

"Where is she?" he wrung his hands, flexing his fingers in agitation as he paced in their little corner on the part of the building still in-tact. Their own private command post.

"Marshall…" Abigail began.

"Where are they?!" he repeated, this time including Cassidy in his question. His face was fraught with worry, lines drawn as he struggled to stay cool.

It only made him feel marginally better that they'd managed to snag the men after his witness and had already sent them to be booked with a couple of cops in Abigail's division. Mary was still inside, and that did nothing to ease his mind.

"Yeah – yep. Keep us posted," he heard Stan say to whoever was on the other end of the line, and then he hung up.

Once he was off his cell, he turned to Marshall and put a hand on his arm, understanding but firm.

"Marshall, you've gotta stop this," he implored. "Mary's tough; she's smart. She knew better than to bring that kid out the front door, and a good thing too. They would've grabbed her before she'd hit the steps. That red hair is a dead giveaway."

Marshall nodded, swallowing hard as he tried not to lose it. But no matter how many times he went over Mary's prowess, he couldn't erase those nagging doubts.

"Let the firemen do their work; we can't get in with them running around here anyway; they'll never let us," he reminded his inspector.

"Stan, she's pregnant – she's vulnerable," it was his turn to jog someone's memory as far as Mary was concerned.

"You better not let her hear you say that," he attempted a joke, but Marshall didn't bite.

"She might be able to protect herself, but what about the baby? The smoke inhalation…"

The thought made him choke up unexpectedly, and he realized it was because he didn't really expect Mary to consider her unborn child. It was a horrible thing to have pass through his mind, and it made him feel sick. Mary was not selfish or unfeeling, and she wouldn't be dumb enough to put herself in a situation that was going to endanger the baby.

_Yes she would_, said a small voice at the back of his head.

But that didn't mean she was just thinking about herself. It just meant she was concerned with doing her job the best way she knew how. And that was what made Mary – Mary.

All of this clattering through his brain at breakneck speed made him shudder in the stifling heat, and Stan addressed his comment while Abigail continued to stand timidly nearby – an outsider with these two men.

"She's gonna do everything she can to get out," Stan assumed. "You know that. As soon as they can get some of these flames burned out, we can go in and…"

Both of them jumped as Marshall's cell phone went off; it sounded strangely loud amongst all the sirens and screaming. Marshall shook Stan's hand off him in his haste to answer, tugging it out of his pocket and almost dropping it in his anticipation.

"Mary?!" he called, almost before he even managed to get the device to his ear.

But all he heard was the same thing he was hearing right where he stood – alarms, shouts, the raging wind creating static against his lobe.

"Mary, are you there?" he shouted again, Abigail and Stan waiting expectantly beside him.

"Marshall?" said a tiny voice that did not belong to his partner.

"Cassidy?!"

"Marshall, come get me!" she begged, and he could tell she was bawling, her words barely distinguishable through the phone.

"Cassidy, where are you?" he asked immediately and then, "Where's Mary?!"

The fact that he had to go and collect the witness, that she had Mary's phone had not gotten by him. It meant Mary couldn't call him herself.

Unfortunately, his double-demand had caused Cassidy to start crying again and she didn't answer either question. Marshall streamlined and got to the point.

"Where are you? Tell me where you are," he knew she must be outside somewhere if he could hear everything going on through the speaker. He just prayed Mary was with her, however weak.

"We…we…" she broke up slightly and Marshall strained to hear. "…The window…basement…"

"You're by the basement window?" Marshall wanted to clarify before he darted off.

"…Uh-huh…"

That was all the confirmation he needed. He hollered for Cassidy to stay put, smacked his phone shut, and relayed the news to Stan.

"Cassidy's out; she escaped through the basement, but she has Mary's phone. I've gotta go grab her."

And he took off without waiting for a response, his long legs allowing him to feel weightless and free as he bolted from their post around the backside of the building. The playground spanned about half of the rear-end and Marshall strode across it, his cowboy boots making a loud click-clack against the pavement. There was a stone awning across the furthest end which Marshall ducked under once he reached it, wanting to grab his gun but he knew it was no use right now.

Trying to remember the logistics of the building, he looked for some kind of low-set window near the far end where the flames had taken over. He hoped Cassidy wouldn't stand nearby if she saw them coming.

Once under the awning, he jogged through a dead-end tunnel, short stairs ascending on either side which would take him back inside. At the end, the stretch curved slightly and he picked up the pace, trying to reach the light. He knew even before he got there that she was nearby. He could hear her crying and as he came into view, she ran upon seeing her savior's face.

"Marshall!"

The inspector immediately picked her up as she held out her arms, nestling her close as she trembled against him, body wracking with sobs. The spot she'd run from was a secluded little cluster of picnic tables, long since forgotten.

"It's okay…" he murmured quietly, her hair smelling smoky, the rest of her dirt-streaked. "You're all right…you're safe."

Smoke was seeping out over here and Marshall cautioned himself as he stepped closer, just trying to get a better read on the situation while he clutched the clinging Cassidy in his arms.

"Cassidy…" he helped her to pull away a little so he could get a look at her face, which was horrified. "Where is Mary? Did you get out through that window?"

It was tiny. He was surprised Cassidy had managed it, and knew his partner wouldn't have stood a chance.

"She told me to get out and call you!" the little one wailed with despair. "She told me I should – she gave me her phone!"

That didn't exactly answer Marshall's question, but his charge was too overwhelmed to reveal much more, and the window was too steamed-up to see anything. He decided to get her away from the spot and take her back up front to be with Stan and Abigail. Still holding her in his arms, he continued to whisper reassurances as he ran with her through the loop, stroking her hair and trying to calm her down, all the while trying to do the same to himself.

If she wasn't with Cassidy, where was she? She wasn't inside. She just couldn't be.

"Marshall!" Stan called when he came into view.

He deposited the little girl at his boss' feet and Abigail immediately started tending to her, trying to wipe her face and get her under control. She was coughing from the combination of the fumes and the tears, and Marshall was grateful to Abigail for being able to take care of her.

"Cassidy…" Marshall knelt down, legs knocking together in fear but he tried to keep his voice even. "What happened to Mary? Did she get out another way?"

_Please… God, please._

Cassidy gulped and shook her head. Marshall felt his body drown in ice despite the warmth of the air, flooding his soul with dread.

"Then…?"

"She said she'd wait for me, but the ceiling came down and she went the other way!"

"She's still inside?" Marshall's voice was hushed, not wanting to believe the words.

This time, the child nodded and this brought on another round of tears but she had Abigail now. Marshall didn't even think. He was up and only had a phrase to spare for Stan before he bolted.

"I'm going in – I've gotta get Mary…"

But it was Abigail who grabbed his arm.

"Marshall, you can't!" she implored over Cassidy's sobs. "It's unstable; you're not gonna be any help to Mary if you get buried too!"

He knew she was just scared for him, but how could she not understand? Her face was etched in disbelief as though she hadn't heard him correctly, like she couldn't possibly comprehend what he was about to do. Marshall had spent enough time with people to be able to read their features and all he saw in Abigail's eyes was for him to stay close – save his own neck.

"She's my partner. She's pregnant; it's my job to make sure she gets out alive. And Cassidy is my…"

He was about to say, 'witness' but caught himself just in time, the conversation he'd had with Mary the night before playing like an old roll of film in his mind.

"My responsibility," he corrected. "Mary wasn't even supposed to be here."

Guilt threatened to overcome him with this realization, but he reined it in as best he could. He could feel badly later when Mary was there to scold him for it. She never let him blame himself, even when she teased and made fun.

In hopes of placating Abigail, he turned his approach around.

"I'll be okay – they've already started the extinguish," he jerked his head behind him, indicating the fire hoses dousing what had minutes before been dancing flames. "It's just gonna be smoke and steam by the time I find her."

_If he found her._

_No. Don't do that. Don't even think it._

There was no time to waste here, but Marshall allowed Abigail to peck his cheek lightly before nodding and stealing one last glance at Stan as though for approval. His face was resigned and reluctant, but he knew he couldn't prevent it no matter how he tried.

"Abigail can take Cassidy back to the police station," he said. "Her dad's waiting."

There was no hiding this fact from the little girl who heard every single word, despite her crying over Marshall's and Abigail's discussion.

"My dad's here?!" she exclaimed, all hope, wishes, and dreams.

Stan looked at her as though he'd forgotten she was even with them, but he nodded.

"He got here a little while ago – you were right," he smiled kindly at the child and continued in her own phrasing, "He's just as great as you said."

In other words; innocent, cleared, free of guilt and accusation. He could take his daughter wherever he wanted and start anew. This information seemed to overwhelm Cassidy beyond what she might've expected because she started weeping all over again. She didn't even seem to understand it herself – tears streamed down her cheeks, but her smile shined through. Wet, but sincere to the letter. Pure happiness.

"Mary said I could see him if I was brave and got out!" she declared. "She was right!"

The fact that Mary had managed to keep this kid cool enough to get her out safely was more than Marshall could take. Courageous and strong was his partner and he had to do everything he could to get her by his side again. Who knew how much time they had let slip by just talking about this?

"I have to go and get her – I have to go now…" he shook his head as he said this to Stan, but didn't wait for an answer before he raced back in the direction of the playground, planning to use one of those entrances under the awning to get himself inside unscathed.

"Hold on Mary…" he whispered as he ran, heart thudding dangerously in his ribcage. "Hold on."

XXX

**A/N: I know, I know – more cliffhangers! (You might want to get used to them!) But, the good news is that I always post every day; I do that on purpose. I know if it were me, I would hate to be waiting; that's why I always finish before posting. That is not to say that I flatter myself so much that I think everybody's lying in wait for the next chapter, but in the one in billion chance you are…its coming. ;) **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: It has been a very looooooooooong day, friends. But, fear not. I haven't forgotten you!**

XXX

It was hot. That was all Mary could discern. It was like being inside an oven and every time she tried to take a breath, her throat closed up a little more like someone was holding a rag over her mouth. It reminded her of when she'd been abducted outside the theater and gagged with the cloth of chloroform. These memories did nothing to help her, especially since they'd already plagued her early down below.

She'd stayed in the stairwell in the basement as long as she could. The roof from the upper floor had continued to tumble and blacken like charcoal, but she was safe further up and she knew the air was cleaner than it would be anywhere else. She was soaking wet from the sprinklers, her white shirt damp, jeans tighter than usual around her middle. And she knew without looking that she was filthy, stained with smoke and ash.

She'd left the sanctuary of the steps when she'd felt the roof closing in on her head, and escaped through the door she and Cassidy had come in. She'd expected to see a wall of flames, a virtual bonfire to roast marshmallows, but it was all smoke and steam, foggy and hazy as she tried to peer through the gloom, wondering how the hell she was going to get out. She was careful to go right; opposite of the direction the floor had started to bottom out. Mary knew the absence of the fire meant someone outdoors was putting it to bed, but she could tell pretty quickly no one had been allowed to venture in yet.

And now she crouched low, stumbling as well as she was able through the mist but the smoke was engulfing her, clouding her head and her ability to think. Her chest was so tight she felt sure her heart would just tear out of her ribcage any second. She couldn't breathe and each time she tried, all she did was cough. It was a vicious cycle – the hacking made her abdomen scream in protest. Her lower belly was aching fit to burst and this made her extremely nervous – it was the only thought that entered her muzzy brain, full to the brim with nothing but survival instincts.

What was going on with the baby? All the smoke – the toxins from the fire hoses. Could this kid make it out of that unharmed? In another small, open corner of her mind she wondered if anyone was even coming to get her. The point of her job was to be where she should be, but not have anyone know it. Once they accounted for the students, they wouldn't be looking for anyone else.

But a third thought made its way in.

_Marshall will come._

She couldn't explain how she knew it, especially now as she fell to her knees with the effort of heaving up her lungs. She didn't even know where she was; the smoke was too thick and she could barely walk.

_Marshall will be here._

It was the only thing that contented her; the only thing she could believe in as her vision became swimmy against the grayness – bleak and never-ending, holding onto Marshall's face.

She tried not to listen to the thoughts that said she was a terrible friend, not someone anyone would bother risking their own skin to save – that if she made it, she had to tell Marshall she just wasn't worthy of the way he treated her. Like someone pure and compassionate and wonderful. She was none of those things. She had to have time to thank him for even pretending.

Her legs gave way about halfway up the hall as she saw the stairs come into view, half-gone, hanging absurdly as though on hinges in midair. She fell onto her side, too weak with coughing to move on but she felt the stab to her stomach when she hit the ground. She couldn't just stop. She couldn't drag poor Marshall into this mess.

Knowing she needed to thank him made her think of Cassidy, how her father had taught her so young to express her appreciation. She'd never been so lucky.

The floor was hard against her aching limbs, the grey turning rapidly to black but she fluttered her eyes, blinked through the murkiness that threatened to overcome her, trying desperately to stay awake.

All she could hear now was Cassidy's little voice. She couldn't be nearby and yet she sounded so close. Four words played over and over in her mind; she could've sworn she saw the indistinct face of the young girl at the end of the hall. But her hair was red – not blonde.

_I want my dad. I want my dad. I want my dad. _

And she closed her eyes, feeling herself slip beneath, desiring the feel of strong arms on hers, sheltering her from the demons and the darkness. She couldn't do it without him, and his aged face floated against the edges of her subconscious as she allowed herself to fall away.

"_Where is he?! Where did he go?!"_

_Jinx was sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands, tears leaking beneath her fingers onto the scrubbed wood. Why was her mother crying again? She spent half her life wailing. What could it possibly be this time?_

_A baby bawled in the background, its cry for help familiar and daunting. It meant dirty diapers and a reddened face – stupid games of messy Brandi throwing Biscuit to the floor and making Mary pick it up._

"_I SAID – where IS he?!" the voice was her own._

"_Mary honey…" Jinx blubbered unashamedly, a tattered piece of paper under her elbows propped on the table._

_The sun was shining through the window, lighting the kettles and dishes amongst her mother's weeping form. It even hit her brunette hair and made it shine. Nearby, a bottle of gin glimmered and that always scared Mary. It was tantalizing – such a pretty sight, full of sparkles and shimmers. But to touch was a deathtrap. Full of snakes and screams and bad dreams._

"_Tell me where he is!" her little voice demanded once more. "I don't want to stay here! I want to go to work with him!"_

_She'd rather watch him bag groceries all day than sit at home with her disgrace of a mother._

"_He's gone…" her mother bemoaned as Brandi continued to scream behind them._

_Gone? To work? To the track? To a motel to get away from spineless Jinx?_

"_Where?" and the trepidation inched its way in._

_The baby's bawling was deafening now and Mary wanted to scream for her to shut up._

"_He's not coming back," this unleashed a fresh round of sobs from Jinx, but Mary refused to believe it. It wasn't true. Her mother was weak-willed and stupid and half out-of-her-mind._

"_You liar!" Mary accused. "He just left to get away from you! I picked up ALL his stubs this weekend and put them in order! He said I was so smart and clever and that he'd bring me back something nice – for my birthday! You didn't do anything! You never help him when he asks for it!"_

_Blame was so much easier. It avoided the inevitable. She suddenly remembered seeing the suitcase by the door that morning. Recalled the white button-down he'd been wearing – the one with the navy pinstripes. She suddenly wished she could see it again, just to make sure._

"_Stop yelling!" Jinx demanded angrily, finally facing her daughter. "You're giving me a headache!"_

"_You ALWAYS have a headache!" Mary raged. "And Brandi is always crying and if he left it's because YOU made him! He'll come back and get me!"_

_Jinx stood then. The recollection was fuzzy at best, but she'd remembered her mother's desperation to make her understand, to brush off the blame her daughter had donned her and attempt to comfort. She was wearing pink satin pajamas, old but still sort of shiny. Mary hadn't forgotten the way they felt against her skin when her mother tried to hug her. She remembered everything about that day._

"_Don't touch me!"_

_The gesture was not well-received, but all Jinx did was shed her tears and try to pull Mary toward her. After much resistance, she finally let her put an arm around her, the wailing just a distant hum in her ears._

"_Oh, Mary darling…" Jinx murmured softly. "You were his little girl. He adored you, sweetheart."_

_She'd hated that 'were' and that 'adored.' It meant something had ended, that something was over and done and that couldn't be. It couldn't be._

"_He'll be back for my birthday," she'd whispered against her mother's arm, visions of cakes and parties and a made-up Jinx dancing through her mind. She knew it wasn't real, knew she was only kidding herself._

"_He's going to bring me something," she had to pretend. It was helping to squash the overwhelming ache in her chest._

"_You and I will celebrate together," was all Jinx said, thickly and muddled with tears._

_And that was all Mary needed to hear to know what was really going on. The sun shined harshly and cruelly into their crappy, crummy kitchen, forty-eight hours from seven years old._

_Her father was gone. He was never coming back._

She longed for those arms and that touch the same way she had on that day, the heat circling her and swallowing her up. She became seven years old once more, wanting to feel safe and sheltered from the storms. To not have to take care of herself anymore, especially when she couldn't manage it for the helpless being that lived in her belly.

_I want my dad._

XXX

**A/N: I know I gave you practically nothing here, and I apologize LOL! I think you'll get something you're looking for in the next chapter, though. And remember, I wrote this before season five, so the flashback to James leaving is obviously my own creation. I love the way the show handled the flashbacks though; this was just prior to my seeing them!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: It would seem I have kept you all on your toes! I can't promise I'll stop doing that, but I can promise you will likely get at least one thing you're looking for in this chapter! I hope it'll make all the agony of waiting worth it. ;)**

XXX

Marshall was careful to crawl as he inched along his stomach throughout the school, trying to keep his head below the funnels of smoke, rapidly turning to steam. Every now and then, when he thought he could chance it, he would lift his chin and call her name.

"Mary?!"

But no matter how many times he barked, an answer never came. He knew she must be here somewhere, but whether or not she could shout back to him was becoming more and more unlikely. His eyes began to itch and sting from the fumes, not to mention the emotion threatening to overcome him.

_She couldn't be dead. She was not dead._

All he thought of was Mary's face, the glint in her big green eyes, the way she laughed at him and mocked his wealth of useless information. The memories were slashing him in two; he absolutely couldn't let her go. He would never forgive himself. He would never be able to go on.

"Mary?!" he cried out again, his desperate timbre cutting the haze apart.

Still on his tummy, he saw the figure of the stairs by the library, creaking precariously as the upper-half dangled ludicrously as though on strings, like a puppet. He coughed as he raised his head – this was one of the first shapes he'd been able to discern in awhile. He was cautious wiggling past them, afraid they were going to crash down at any minute.

"Mary…" he murmured once more.

Third time seemed to be the charm.

He saw her; curled on her side about eight feet away and he knew even before she came fully into view that she was unconscious. He forgot about the smoke and the fact that if he passed out too, they would really be in trouble. He pushed himself off the ground and ran, flat-out, not even noticing the ache in his chest. He was standing over her in no time.

"Mary…oh Jesus…"

He knelt beside her, knowing now that the feeling of cotton in his throat had nothing to do with the steam. He gently turned her over onto her back, her eyes shut with her mouth partially open. She was a mess – her hair was all soggy, her shirt soaking and caked in dust. Her cheeks followed the same pattern, patches of red amongst the circles of black ash.

"Mary…" he whispered, tears falling unashamedly now as he patted her cheeks in fruitless attempts to wake her. "Mare, can you hear me?"

It was such a dumb question, which only made him cry harder. But it was how they were trained to deal with a blacked-out victim – to ask if they had any awareness at all of anything around them. And it was clear within seconds that Mary did not.

"It's all right…" he said through his tears as though she could hear him. "I'm gonna get you out of here…"

As carefully as he could, fearing for the second life at stake, he slid his arms underneath her back, thinking foolishly of how she had complained to him only yesterday morning how much it had been irritating her. With a grunt and a cough, he hoisted her into his arms, legs dangling over the crook in his elbow. He pulled her lolling head into his chest, protecting her against the fumes as best he was able. Immediately, he set out for the exit, jogging as fast as he thought he could without hurting her anymore than she already might be.

She was heavier than he was expecting, but it was nothing compared to the lead he felt in his feet, the terror that weighted against his heart. He was too afraid to see if she had a pulse, if her own heart was beating until they were out in the clear light of day. She was warm against him; he could feel her hair brushing against his cheek, mingling with the tears still fresh on his face.

"It's okay…" he coughed as he spotted the double-doors ahead. "You're okay…you're okay…"

Marshall knew he was only saying it for his own benefit, as Mary obviously couldn't hear him but it was all he knew how to do.

He was choking pretty well by the time he hit the hatch leading back to the playground, but he ignored it and began to run once he succumbed to the fresh air. He was determined to get her as comfortable as possible if he was able to wake her up.

_When. Not if, when. _

Jostling in his grip now, he kneeled in the grass about halfway around the school and put her down tenderly, making sure to keep her on her back.

Taking a deep breath, he swallowed and frantically began rescue breathing, mind turning with the things Mary might say if she could see him with his lips on hers.

"Come on Mary…come on…" he rattled desperately after every couple of gasps. "Breathe for me…breathe…"

The sorrow started to overtake him; she wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing and no matter how he tried, no matter how he hoped, gave his life to her, she wasn't waking up.

"Mary…please…" he was sobbing now, becoming hysterical as he continued to give her mouth-to-mouth. "Don't let go…don't let go…it's not time yet…"

The phrase took him back to the evening he had chased her into the hospital as she lay bleeding on the stretcher, oxygen strapped to her face, her middle stained and drenched in dark red. They were memories that haunted his nightmares, that plagued in his darkest hour when he thought of Mary on assignment by herself, praying every single time that no harm came her way.

"Marshall!" he hardly heard Stan in the distance, couldn't discern the sound of his feet on the pavement, which he knew must mean his boss was joining them.

"Mary…" he was hacking now, unable to give much more but he wouldn't stop for anything, not until he made sure he had traded his all.

He knelt to give another desperate surge of air, and then perched with his hands on the grass, willing her to come to life as Stan stuttered to a halt above him.

"Oh God, Marshall…"

But then she coughed, almost choking on the air but it was the most wonderful sound Marshall had ever heard in his life. The tears retuned in full-force as his best friend fought against the tremors in her chest – she coughed so hard she sprung up with the effort and hit Marshall in the head as he leaned over gazing at her in wonder. His temple smarted when she dinged him, but he was numb now, smiling down at her as he let her gasp herself back to earth.

Stan sighed in relief, but Marshall was glued to his post, unable to leave her side.

"I'm gonna grab the medics…make sure we get her out of here without a bunch of fuss – she'll kill us if we blow her career all to hell and the cameras get a shot of her face…"

The fact that Mary was even going to be around to maim them made Marshall laugh out loud. He waited as patiently as he could while her choking descended into quivers, her eyes still shut from the task of trying to get in a breath of fresh air.

Gently, Marshall extended a tender hand and rubbed her chest lightly, hoping it would soothe the sensation inside her lungs.

"Easy…" he whispered, heart slowing now that she was awake. "You're okay…"

She was. She was okay. Not good, not great. But okay.

Her coughing eventually died down and she relaxed against the grass; Marshall could see her shaking slightly in all the chaos of being returned so abruptly to life.

Slowly, Mary allowed her eyes to ease themselves open. The breeze circling around her was warm, but clear and clean. The tops of green trees floated above her, blurry against her lids. And there, suspended amongst the dappled leaves was Marshall, looking completely inundated with the saddest kind of relief she'd ever seen. There was a smile on his face, but she'd never viewed him so distraught. And something about him being there wasn't computing for some reason. Why did she expect to see her dad?

And where the hell was she? Why was she on the ground? What had happened? And Marshall – why was he making that face as though she were on the brink of death?

"Why are you blubbering?" she whispered hoarsely, but the effort of speaking made her feel so sick she was afraid she was going to throw up.

To Marshall, however, the disdain was music to his ears. She sounded just like Mary – however hard it was for her to get the words out. He chuckled beneath the tears and smoothed her wet hair, watching her eyes dart back and forth blearily as she got a handle on the situation.

"I'm just happy to see you," he finally said, still sniffling, trying to listen to see if Stan had returned with the paramedics.

"Oh…" she murmured softly.

This didn't really explain anything, but she was beginning not to care. She ached all over and she still felt like she was going to puke, stomach churning uncomfortably. She was hot and prickly and she felt dirty, completely drained of energy and any want or need. Turning her head to the right ever-so-slightly, she saw the school beyond.

Then it started to click. Cassidy – the alarm – the basement – the window – the collapse.

Her dad – James? Where the hell did he come in?

She could worry about that later.

"Where's Cassidy?" she asked Marshall, but the second question brought on another round of coughing; her chest seared in agitation and so did her gut.

Marshall extended a hand to quiet her.

"Relax…slow down…" he told her. "Cassidy's fine. Her dad's here; everything's getting wrapped up as we speak. You're a hero, inspector."

His face filled with pride and admiration and Mary suddenly felt the guilt she'd remembered inside. She wasn't worth his worship.

"All in a day's work…" she murmured as quietly as she could so she wouldn't start coughing again.

Marshall sighed, his hand still stroking her hair. He had to touch her, keep her close, remind himself every second that she was here and he could never let that go by without recognition again. He was feeling so sentimental, so near to her heart that he almost didn't notice her try to sit up.

"No-no…" he instructed. And then, "Lie back. I don't want you moving – not until somebody's looked at you."

She didn't listen – when did she ever? – and shifted onto her elbows, but then emitted a loud groan, eyes squeezing shut. The effort of holding herself up along with whatever she'd just felt was too much and she slipped. Fortunately, Marshall was there to keep her from hitting the back of her head.

"It hurts…" she moaned again and tried to take a deep breath to help cope with it, but it made her voice strangle with coughs once more.

"What does?" Marshall was on the alert again, determined to keep her as comfortable and safe as possible.

"My belly…" she gasped through gritted teeth. "Something's wrong…"

How could he have been so stupid? Some five minutes before he had been frantic with worry about both Mary and the state of her unborn child. Two seconds of letting his guard down to bask in Mary's return to consciousness and it had completely driven the baby from his mind. Some Marshal he was. The threat hadn't passed at all. Mary or the baby or both could be in danger.

But Marshall at least knew better than to say this out loud.

"Stay calm…" he whispered, fingers lost in her hair now. "Stan went to get the medics so we can get you in an ambulance – they'll get you all fixed up," he promised.

Mary shook her head and gulped, closing her eyes as she bit back a cry.

"It really hurts Marshall…"

It was a constant pain now; heavy cramps and convulsions gripping her abdomen so roughly it was making her dizzy, bringing the nauseated feeling back to her innards. She longed to slip back away – not to feel or think or do. She didn't want to deal with this; she didn't want to be brave anymore.

"I know…" Marshall murmured, even though he didn't. "Just breathe as best you can; try to relax. Help's on the way."

Mary did her best to nod, feeling sticky and sweaty in the heat and exhaled out her nose and then her mouth. She coughed slightly, but managed to stay in control. The ache in her tummy was worse than that now, and her mind was coming up with all sorts of horrifying possibilities about what could be wrong.

Beneath all this, she liked the feeling of Marshall's gentle fingers playing in her hair, his warm body like a safe harbor next to hers.

"I'm so proud of you, Mare…" he whispered, unabashed as always.

She wanted to correct him, to say she didn't deserve it, to snark that he wouldn't think that when this kid began to suffer for her mistakes. But she was too tired to get any of that out. So instead, breathing shaky and uneven now, she just thought of Cassidy and the lessons she'd learned so early on – how she'd vowed as the walls came tumbling down not to take her partner for granted any longer.

"Thank-you, Marshall."

XXX

**A/N: Of course, the drama never ends. But, I hope you are contented with the fact that Marshall has come to the rescue. He's got his girl back. :)**

**Thank-you all in spades for the reviews. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate them. I have been woefully inept at reviewing lately, as I am so busy. I beg you'll forgive me.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: You all are honestly what's keeping me going these days. I cannot thank-you enough.**

XXX

Half an hour later, both Mary and Marshall were in the back of an ambulance howling down the street to Mesa Regional, three paramedics trying to tend to Mary in the small space. She'd insisted Marshall accompany her, not wanting to make the journey by herself and knowing Marshall would have more knowledge about the state of her pregnancy.

Mary longed to go to sleep but despite how tired she was, the pain in her lower belly had gotten so bad it was keeping her awake and more alert than she cared to be. Two minutes into the ride, her brow had grown sweaty with the breathing she was trying to do to manage the intensity. Her throat, already scratchy from the smoke, felt like it was coated in sandpaper; her head was in Marshall's lap, the closest she could be to him lying down.

"She's how many weeks?" one of the female paramedics asked him as she arranged an IV of fluids.

"Thirty-two," he reported so Mary wouldn't have to respond. "She's due the last week in September."

Mary whimpered slightly from below him, coughing with the sound and Marshall looked down to see her fighting tears with everything she had. He knew she already felt weak and gutless, and crying would only enhance all that. She threw her right arm over her eyes to shield them from Marshall, but he stroked that same arm anyway even though he couldn't see her.

"It's bad…" she moaned desperately. "It's really bad, Marshall…"

"Hang in there," he reinforced gently, and then he spoke directly to the medics, "Is there anything you can give her? She's in a lot of pain."

"We're arranging an IV, Mr. Mann," she informed him in a very robotic, non-emotive tone most paramedics adopted when trying to be neutral. "It's not very strong – we can't give her too much until we assess the injuries to her and the baby, but it should at least dull her symptoms."

Mary shook her head at these words. She wanted someone to knock her out and she didn't want an IV. It would bruise her arm, which wouldn't help in trying to fire her gun. The tape would be sticky against her skin and would pull on her veins. She didn't know if she could take any more abnormalities before she passed out again.

Marshall, seeing her face grow slippery from the sweat, streaking the dirt across her cheeks, pulled his handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and then dispensed with the jacket all together. Why he'd gone into the building wearing it in the first place was a mystery. He tossed it behind him and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and then collected the bottled water Stan had given him for the ride. It wasn't very cold anymore, but would have to do.

"Mare…" he murmured gently while the nurse started to strap-up the IV. "Let me see…"

Without waiting for her to approve, he removed the arm covering her eyes and saw that they were only half-open as she continued trying to breathe, punctuated every now and then with a nasty cough. Efficiently, he spilled some of his water onto the handkerchief, soaking it as best he could. He didn't even wring it out before he tenderly wiped up her face, trying to remove the streaks of ash incurred in the fire. She opened her lids all the way at the touch and moaned – half out of content, and then a hint of a grimace but she didn't tell him to stop.

Once satisfied, he let the cloth rest on her forehead, hoping it would soak up some of the sweat.

"Feel okay?" he asked, referring to the damper.

Mary nodded, which caused the scarf to slip slightly, but Marshall arranged it back in place.

His mind was spinning furiously trying to come up with anything that might be wrong with the baby – or the kid, as Mary constantly referred to him or her. The amount of smoke she inhaled was going to be a problem, but that shouldn't be putting her in this much pain. She could've miscarried but he didn't think that was it; nothing was being expelled, much to Marshall's relief. And going into premature labor didn't seem to be right either. Near as he could tell, the hurt she felt was constant and if she was in labor she'd be having contractions and would at least get a break every few minutes.

"Miss Shannon, I'm going to put your IV in now…" the female medic was saying, her voice falsely bright and sweet considering the situation.

Marshall saw his friend tense at the declaration and felt badly she would have to go through another prod and poke. Under normal circumstances, he never would've dared ask if he could bridge one of the gaps in their relationship, which was Mary's distaste for touch. But, she seemed so frightened and not at all like her usual self, so he was willing to risk it.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" he offered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

She looked at him then, one of her eyes partially hidden beneath the handkerchief, but Marshall pulled it aside so he could see all of her. Her eyes were watery and sparkled with unshed tears, but he saw the yearning underneath. Without any indication at all, she groped and Marshall curled his fingers into hers, taking her lead and deciding not to say anything.

"You'll just feel a pinch…" the female continued and Marshall kept one eye on the needle, one on Mary. She was looking so uncharacteristically nervous it was unsettling, but he did his best to stay calm.

He saw Mary wince with the prick, noticed the pause in her ragged breathing, felt her grasp tighten as she squeezed his hand for comfort. He squeezed back and used his free hand to rub her nearest shoulder in reassurance. He chose not to indicate they were out of those proverbial-woods until he saw the medic adhere the tape against the needle.

"Good…" he whispered as she exhaled slowly, shaking a little from holding herself so tightly. "Good girl…"

The term of endearment slipped unexpectedly, but it brought on a different wave of emotions for Mary who couldn't even find time to scold Marshall for it. It reminded her of Jinx, who had been at her house that very morning, pleading with her to be a 'good girl.' Was it possible that had been in these twenty-four hours? It seemed years ago and suddenly, she recalled the images of her father that had floated through her addled mind before she'd passed out.

She found herself longing unexpectedly not for him now, but for the parent she knew would actually come. Whatever Jinx's faults, she'd always appeared when Mary really needed her, and she had the desire more than ever to be taken care of like a little girl. She didn't have any idea what was going on inside her, and it scared her half-to-death.

"Did you call Jinx?" she whispered to Marshall, voice rough from the combination of heavy breathing and smoke.

Although she often referred to her mother by her first name, this was the first time it felt strange.

"Stan's taking care of it," he assured her. "He'll get your mom and Brandi and Peter. You worry about you."

"Believe me, I am," she groaned with another grimace.

Marshall kept her hand inside his, not wanting to see the needle stuck in her arm now, and tried to focus on her face. He was about to placate her again, but she spoke first.

"What's going on?" she asked so softly he almost didn't hear over the siren's blare. "What's wrong with me?"

The question made her tear up again and she fought like hell not to give in. Marshall didn't miss the look that flitted in her face, but the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel worse for showing her insecurities.

"I don't know," he leaned in, closer to her face now, knowing she wanted the truth. "I won't say anything so trite as, 'everything's going to be fine.' But, what I am sure of is that you are tough as hell, you're not going down without a fight and although I can't promise it, I would make a pretty good bet this kid won't either."

It was so kind and sincere, and yet she wished he hadn't used the word, 'bet.' Not because it was uncertain but because of the memories it evoked. Bets and gambling and throwing one's life away for a quick buck. But Marshall couldn't have known that one little word would send her over the edge – a couple hours before, she wouldn't have guessed the same herself.

Instead, she reinforced her grasp in Marshall's palm and held it tight.

"I don't deserve you, Marshall," she murmured, deciding to be honest if he was going to do the same.

Her partner sighed and cocked his head, looking at her as though she were merely being exasperating about some stupid case – like they didn't agree on how to handle a run-amok witness. The look was so familiar it made her heart murmur strangely against all the hurt coursing through the rest of her body.

"Don't say that," he told her definitively. "You know, you've already saved my ass at least once and I wasn't able to manage the same for you until today. We're Even Stevens if you ask me."

He thought he saw a hint of an eye-roll at his wording and that made him grin softly.

"It kills Marshall…" she whispered, eyes fully open now as she looked to him for help.

"I know," he nodded sedately. "But I need you to hang in there for me, okay?"

He saw her swallow and nod, continuing to breathe as well as she could and Marshall left one more phrase of understanding with her aching form.

"There isn't anything you can't do."

XXX

**A/N: Hopefully this sufficed, and the waiting isn't killing you.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This one is a bit longer – I confess you might not get answers, but you'll get a bit of meat!**

XXX

Getting Mary into an exam room was a blur once they made it to the hospital. Pregnant and soot-covered got her to the front of the line, helped along by Marshall flashing his badge at every turn. But the space they acquired in the emergency room was tiny and only separated them from others by a curtain. He realized they would probably have to wait for Stan to get something more private, because Mary was keeping up a steady stream of complaints about their resting quarters.

Whatever was in her IV seemed to have helped her pain slightly, but Marshall could tell it was screwing with her mind, making her feel fuzzy and confused and she fought this tooth-and-nail. She was determined to be alert for the exam and became extremely irritable while he waited with her until she was checked.

"Do I have to be DOA to get looked at in this place?!" she barked harshly, still dressed in her jeans and grimy white shirt. Her hair hung limply around her shoulders, matted where Marshall had raked his fingers through it. She occupied the bed, Marshall in a chair beside her.

"Would you please try to relax?" he reinforced for about the fifth time, running his hand over his eyes.

"What are they gonna do when I have this kid on the floor?" she wanted to know, ignoring him completely. "I swear, I could sue for about six different things right now…"

"Calm down," he attempted a firmer approach this time, laying a hand on her arm. "You want this to get worse?"

He didn't want to scare her, but _she_ was scaring _him_.

"Marshall, I am a US Marshal for Christ's sake!" she reminded him, as though he didn't know. "If that doesn't get you preferential treatment, what does?"

"Emergency rooms aren't known for their efficiency," he remarked dryly. "I don't know if you missed that with your ten odd years working in the service."

She scowled darkly, but then sighed in a little bit of resignation and Marshall, however odd it might be, was marginally pleased to see her wear down. He watched her close her eyes in exhaustion, one hand rubbing the side of her stomach in agitation. He knew the medic in the ambulance had been right – the IV meds were only dulling her pain. She put her other hand to her forehead, caressing her temples between her thumb and index finger.

"You all right?" he asked, referring to the multiple areas of aggravation.

"My head is splitting…I feel like I'm gonna throw up…" she admitted, eyes still shut.

"Yeah, that's the meds," he told her. "Unpleasant, I know, but the nausea is pretty routine. They'll put you on something that'll help you sleep once they know what's wrong."

Unfortunately, this didn't ease her mind. Where was her mother? Where was Stan? Ordinarily, Brandi would be breaking down the door to make sure she was all right and no sign of her or Peter. She'd felt the weight of her disloyalty in that crumbling building, but she hadn't expected it to stretch this far. They'd moved on without her and she had only herself to blame.

Her guilt must've shown on her face because Marshall was looking suddenly concerned.

"Hey," he interjected to get her attention. "What?"

Mary shook her head, afraid if she spoke she really would vomit. Her head was pounding and her brain felt so mushy and unclear; she was resolute in her desire to stay in one piece for the exam but she wasn't sure how much longer she could make it. The ache in her abdomen had faded only slightly, but it persisted just the same and she knew whatever had gone awry hadn't gone away.

Fortunately, she was spared the task of having to answer Marshall by the arrival of an unfamiliar nurse in teal-green scrubs, carrying a clipboard.

"Miss Shannon?" she inquired as the two partners looked up.

"Yes," Mary managed the one word, knowing it was her ticket out of this broom closet.

"We're gonna move you down to maternity; there's a doctor waiting up there to get you checked out," she informed them and Marshall sighed in relief, standing to accompany his friend.

Suddenly though, Mary found now that she was going she wanted to stay. Nothing good was waiting for her beyond this room – it was fraught with problems and complications, more sticks and jams and unfamiliar lingo she didn't want to decipher. People she didn't know and tests she didn't want run. Here, she was still safe from all that.

But before she could protest, the nurse was wheeling her bed out with the help of a male nurse, Marshall jogging sedately at her side. They twisted and turned through several corners, and Mary began to feel dizzy again with the movement, stomach rolling in waves against the tide. She shut her eyes, hoping that would help and that way she didn't feel so silly perched on the mattress, upright in her filthy clothes.

They finally reached the maternity ward and the two nurses rolled her into an actual room with an actual door. Marshall helped them transfer her to the bed already waiting inside, so they could return the one she'd arrived on back to its original spot. Mary hated every second of it, of not being able to do for herself, and she bit her tongue reluctantly as they jostled her into place.

"Here's a gown…" the female handed the folded cloth to Marshall instead of Mary. "If you need any help with the stirrups just hit the call button – Doctor Hanson will be here in just a few minutes to do your ultrasound."

Marshall thanked her while Mary remained mute and wondered how on earth she was going to get that gown on and manage to stay upright at the same time. She knew standing was a bad idea and she didn't have anyone to help her.

Well – except Marshall.

Suddenly, the thought of Marshall seeing her in this state became mortifying, even with her clothes on. She was fat, swollen, and dirty. In her own mind, she was completely disgusting and she didn't want Marshall looking at her at all.

"I can…get someone to help you with the gown," he offered, albeit awkwardly, reading her mind as he always did.

Mary bit on her lip to keep from bawling, not knowing how much longer she could stand all this. She just wanted to know what was wrong and go home. She yearned for Brandi or Jinx to come in her time of need so Marshall wouldn't see how weak and unstable she was becoming. Swiftly, she covered her eyes with her hand for the second time that day, muffling her voice.

"Where is my God damn family? The one time in my entire existence I could use their shoddy help…"

Marshall wasn't offended and he even felt pity for his friend as she had to go through this, but did everything he could to help her still feel in control.

"Why don't I just help you up?" he suggested. "Walk you to the bathroom and you can sit on the toilet and get changed? I'll shut the door and you can just holler if you need something."

It was the best he could do and Mary felt a surge of gratitude for him, nodding and extending her hand so he could hoist her up and off the bed. Together, they dragged themselves to the bathroom, Mary leaning most of her weight onto him while he held her IV bag.

It wasn't until Marshall had flicked the light on that Mary's digestive tract took a drastic turn for the worst. She was actually amazed at how fast it happened. She'd been feeling queasy, sure, but she'd managed to hang on, and now she knew she wasn't going to be able to. Her stomach started twisting feverishly; everything in her gut made its way to the top at lightning speed. She could taste the bile in her throat, and then felt it slithering, vile and repellent against her tongue.

It might've been trying to walk; it might've been the change in gravity. Whatever it was, she didn't care, but she was humiliated enough already. She was not going to spew all over her friend.

"M-Marshall…" she quavered pitifully, trying to expend the least amount of words possible in whatever time she had left. He barely got himself turned around at the counter before she went on, "I'm sick; I'm gonna be sick…"

Fortunately, the ashen quality of her face convinced him this was not a sham, and he got to work at once. "Okay…" without further ado, he yanked hard on her arm to get her near the toilet. "Hang tight…"

The tug was painful, but Mary also knew it was essential, and her partner's timing was impeccable. The minute he got the lid on the seat up, she puked; just barely close enough to hit the desired target. She was hanging onto the counter with one hand, leaning way over so she wouldn't mess the floor.

Marshall must've sensed how she might be feeling, which was ashamed and also crushed; because he murmured reassurances even before she'd raised her head once more.

"These things happen…" he promised rationally, patting her back with the hand that wasn't trying to hold her upright. "Don't worry."

'Don't worry' was about the furthest passion from Mary's mind, but she knew he was specifying throwing up. As it was, she just tried to hide the fact that her eyes had welled with tears upon having him watch this disgusting spectacle. She couldn't cry in front of him; not about this.

She coughed and sputtered her way back to clarity, slowly pulling herself into a standing position once more. Marshall had busied himself with a paper cup on the counter, filling it with water.

"Take a drink…" he imposed quietly. "Nice and slow. I can't imagine how thirsty you are," she hadn't had anything since she'd been rescued.

Sipping was a good way to swallow past the cottony feeling in Mary's throat; to gulp hard on those tears. Unfortunately, she knew her cheeks were still red; her guard was down and Marshall could obviously tell.

"You good?" he asked, compressing her shoulder lightly as he peered into her face.

After downing the whole glass, Mary nodded; "Yeah…" her voice was breathless.

"You gonna make it?" Marshall pressed; seemingly, he'd only been referring to the vomiting spell with his prior question.

_Was_ she going to make it?

_No_.

"Mmm hmm…" she hummed valiantly, feeding him a tender and waterlogged smile.

"Okay…" Marshall finally accepted and powered on. "I'll leave you be. Make sure you let me know if you need help; I can always call someone."

Mary motioned her approval and flushed, almost having forgotten why they'd come into the bathroom in the first place.

Fortunately, the previous plan went well after that. Marshall was able to steer her onto the closed toilet and sit her down before exiting and shutting the door. Her IV was still in, so she had to hang onto the bag with Marshall gone, but it didn't seem to be much of a problem. She had to move slowly, but she managed without too many debilitating coughs and once she got her clothes off, the gown was easy. It was big and loose and although she now resembled a killer whale in size, at least it was clean.

Balling her clothes for later, she used the sink to lift herself back up and tottered back into the main room where Marshall was playing with his phone. She was able to roll herself back into the bed and Marshall nodded his support from the opposite side.

Tired now from the effort of moving and rejecting her insides, she decided she could let the on-call doctor mess with the stirrups when he arrived.

Once settled, Mary realized this was the first time she'd gotten a good look at Marshall since they'd exited the smoldering school. He was dirty too, or his face was anyway, and there was a gash on the left side of his forehead. Dried blood caked the small area and she could see a bruise forming around the wound. It wasn't anything bad, but it still looked painful.

"Marshall, what happened?" she murmured, extending a few fingers and pushing his hair aside to reveal the cut.

"It's nothing," he shrugged away from her touch, not wanting to reveal where he'd gotten the marks.

"But, they should still check you out – you breathed in a lot of smoke too and look at your head…" she was suddenly feeling terrible for having dragged him in to such a dangerous situation and even more terrible for not realizing it until now.

"It's fine," he assured her. "It doesn't hurt."

"What happened?" Mary repeated. "Was it the debris; did something fall on you inside?"

Marshall hesitated, but knew he couldn't hide the answer for long. It was a mark of how scared his partner was that he knew she'd be upset to learn she'd clocked him unintentionally. Ordinarily, she'd just laugh about it and call him a prissy girl that she could beat up any day of the week.

"It was you actually…" he began, and seeing the confusion in Mary's face, "When you came to, you really started coughing and you sat up and…" he gestured blandly at the gash, trying to appear nonchalant, "…Gave me a pretty good whack," he finished lamely.

He could see from her eyes that she felt guilty and he hurried to cover up.

"It's my own fault," he said at once. "I was sitting way too close to you; you aren't some spectacle on display. I should've given you some space."

The fact that he felt he had to blame himself just to make her feel better had the exact opposite effect. She felt even worse.

"Everything I touch turns to shit…" she murmured shamefully, eyes on the revolting gown concealing her rotund stomach.

"Mary, stop it," Marshall was firm and he placed a reassuring hand in her lap, getting her to look up at him. Her eyes looked lost and dark – like she didn't know where she was or what she was doing. Nothing was clear.

"Placing blame isn't going to help…" he started to say, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. He jumped and pulled his hand out of Mary's lap as they both whirled around; expecting to see the doctor, but it was Peter, sans Brandi, looking harassed.

Marshall glanced once at Mary for approval, who nodded slowly and Marshall waved for her future brother-in-law to come in.

"Hi…" he greeted them hurriedly, sounding breathless like he'd just run a mile. "I'm so sorry I'm late; I got here as fast as I could."

"Not to worry; there's nothing to see," Marshall said easily, fooling with his phone once more so Mary could deal with Peter and not have to concern herself with dividing her focus.

"They didn't…tell me much; just that you were in a fire?" Peter went on, but his tone held no sign of prying. He was one of the most trusting and understanding individuals that Mary knew, and he would accept whatever they told him and never ask for more. Although she still really wanted to see Brandi or her mother, she was starting to feel grateful that Peter had made it out first so he could field their questions.

As it was, he didn't even wait for one of them to respond.

"Are you guys all right?" he persisted.

Seeing as how Mary was in the hospital and Marshall was the one at her bedside, it was pretty clear who was okay and who wasn't, but it was a natural question.

"They think I'm okay…" Mary told him, putting the emphasis on herself slightly. "Still waiting to hear on…"

She didn't want to say the word, so she merely jerked her head at her belly, which was still throbbing painfully underneath the guise of the meds. Peter grasped the general gist and nodded sympathetically. Mary plowed on to avoid more questions.

"Have you talked to my mother?" she wanted to know. It really did figure the one time she actually wanted her she was nowhere to be found.

"No," Peter shook his head. "I haven't been able to get a hold of her. Brandi's on her way though. I'm really sorry; I sent her up to the Santa Fe dealership to close a contract…"

"It's fine; you couldn't know," Mary shook her head, not wanting him to feel badly.

Funny, how it was always okay if _you_ wanted to be guilty, but it was never all right if someone else pinned it on themselves. Was that a hero-complex moral people possessed? She wasn't sure.

"How did she sound?" she asked, referring to Brandi, but the steady-stream of speaking made her start coughing again, her throat raw red and sore by this time. Marshall rubbed her back gently until she descended into quavers once more.

"She's pretty worried," Peter answered honestly once Mary's spell subsided. "But she'll be here in about an hour; I know she'll feel better once she's close."

"Right," Mary nodded, unable to put away her protective-older-sister mode she fell into so easily.

"I'm really glad you're okay," Peter continued without bravado, and he stepped to the far side of the bed, looking down into face now. He could tell from just a glance she was exhausted but couldn't succumb to rest for anything. He'd grown fond of her in his time with Brandi and admired her strength in situations like these, however much snark came along with it.

"I hope everything else works out," he said, his demeanor soft and sweet just like always. Mary suddenly felt a pang of jealousy for her sister, having found such a wonderful man.

"Thanks," she whispered to keep from shedding tears. "Thank-you for calling Brandi, too."

She couldn't explain it, but her want for her little sister was overpowering, as was her need for Jinx. In the back of her mind, she knew it was those foolish memories of her father that were doing it; the desire to see people who had shared him with her stemmed from all that. It was the closest she could get to having him, although having Marshall so dependably and solidly present was helping too.

"I'll keep trying your mom…" Peter started to say when a second knock split their words apart once again. Mary's heart leapt as she turned to the door, but she was wrong again. No doctor – this time it was Stan. Marshall didn't even wait for Mary's sanction before he motioned for their boss to come inside.

"Evening, you two," he greeted them, not noticing Peter right away.

Was it evening already? Mary had lost track and her room didn't have a window.

"How you feeling, kiddo?" he spoke directly to Mary this time, softening under the sight of his pale and sweaty inspector.

Afraid to answer, Mary just shrugged so she wouldn't become sick again with all the clouds swirling in her brain. Marshall, sensing her dilemma, spoke for her.

"She's hurting; but someone's on their way in," he reported.

"Good-good," Stan nodded his approval and then went on, "I was able to track Jinx's cell, Mary, but she's got it off. Any idea why…?"

"She's in Roswell," Mary spoke over him, hardly daring to believe she had neglected to mention this with all her childish pleading. No wonder her mother wasn't here. She was at that dance competition – her students could be performing right now.

"What's she doing there?" Marshall asked skeptically.

"It's for the studio; I don't…" her head was becoming swimmy, thoughts fuzzy and unfocused and she was kicking herself several times over for not telling Stan sooner. She was in pain. She just wanted to go home.

Marshall rubbed her hair gently and this brought her back to earth; she knew instantly none of these men were going to place any responsibility on her.

"I'm such an idiot…" she murmured. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you…"

"It's all right," Marshall said slowly in his usual, matter-of-fact tone.

"Don't worry about it," Stan chimed in. "I'll call around, talk to the aliens, we'll get her back here in no time."

His joke earned him a sad little smile from Mary and he gave her one in return.

"You hang tough, inspector," he ordered in a mock-serious voice. "You did us all proud, you know that?"

His gratitude made her well-up unexpectedly, but the third knock on the door signaled the arrival of the main attraction. The on-call doctor had arrived, meaning it was time for Stan and Peter to see themselves out. Stan conferred quickly with Marshall before exiting.

"You gonna stay?"

"Yeah; I'll be in here," Marshall nodded and Stan returned the favor. He whirled around to face Mary and said boldly, "I'm not going anywhere."

XXX

**A/N: News on our Mary is coming soon! And Marshall wouldn't miss it! ;)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: You all are just too flattering with the reviews; I can't tell you how honored I am. Hopefully this chapter is worth your time! It's kind of a big one.**

XXX

Peter slipped out of the room without a word, Stan behind him, exchanging many 'excuse me's' with the doctor as they brushed at the door. Mary instantly felt exposed and her skin prickled uncomfortably with what was to come. She knew something was wrong; whether it was so serious that this kid hadn't made it was another thing all together. Her doctor was fairly young and although she had hoped she'd get a woman, luck was not on her side and she got stuck with a man, somewhere in his mid-thirties.

Marshall sat resolutely by her side, even and steady just like always.

"Mary Shannon?" the doctor inquired from his clipboard, flipping pages as he looked for the name.

"Yes," she told him, her throat dry and scratchy from just the three letters.

"Doctor Hanson," he introduced himself briefly and then went right on, "Miss Shannon - thirty-eight years old, thirty-two weeks gestation – lost consciousness at approximately 1:55 PM from severe smoke inhalation. Was given rescue breathing by...?"

His eyes swiveled to Marshall, but he must not have had his name. Marshall merely nodded and the physician continued his report.

"And returned to consciousness at approximately 2:20 PM. Sound right so far?" the man looked to the two people for approval and both of them nodded in unison.

"Now…" he went on, pocketing his pen in his lab coat and migrating to the end of the bed to strap her feet into the stirrups. Mary prayed Marshall wouldn't look, and knew just from knowing Marshall that he would never stray. He was stand-up down to the very last note.

"You said you started feeling pain in your abdominal region shortly after you returned to consciousness, Miss Shannon?"

"Yes," she murmured softly, feeling the bed decline slightly so her feet would fit in where they belonged.

"And has it been constant or with breaks in-between?"

"Constant," she answered at once. There was no denying that.

"And did you take a fall, perhaps injure yourself in any way during the fire?" he prodded, fastening her feet in place now.

Mary thought. She couldn't really remember. Everything was hazy and unclear; all she saw were patches of grey and James' face mingling amongst all of this. Why she kept thinking of him, she had no idea.

"I…I'm…" she stuttered stupidly, hating herself for not being able to give more information. "I'm not sure…" she admitted.

But Marshall came to her rescue.

"She blacked-out, how is she supposed to remember?"

"Sir, it's just protocol; we like to get as much information as possible," Doctor Hanson told him, neutral and flat just like the medic in the ambulance. "Well…let's see if we can figure out what's going on. First, I'm gonna check your cervix, make sure you're not dilating and haven't gone into labor."

Mary wasn't really one to argue with doctors – she'd worked with enough decent ones in WITSEC – but shouldn't he be checking if this kid was even alive first? What did it matter if she was in labor if the baby had bit the dust?

But she kept her mouth shut, mostly because she felt so awful, and nodded, biting her lip in apprehension. His words inspired new fear; getting her cervix checked was not going to be fun. But Marshall, God bless him, was ready to go. He stood up in an instant to be closer to her, and saw the fright in her eyes as the doctor strapped on his gloves and took a seat at the foot of the bed.

"You're gonna be okay…" he promised. "It'll be real quick…"

How did Marshall even know that?

But she nodded a second time and kept her eyes on his, drawing from his strength and his comfort. He took her hand, hanging limply at the side of the bed and let her fingers rest in his.

"Take a deep breath for me, Mary…" the doctor instructed, using her first name this time.

She did as he said and exhaled, long and low, and fought crying out with every fiber of her being when the discomfort became so overwhelming she could hardly stand to stay stationed on the bed. She was biting her lip so hard she was afraid she'd break the skin and Marshall felt her yank fiercely on his hand. He ached for her, but sighed when she relaxed in relief and pulled her in close for a brief embrace in hopes that it would soothe her. She was trembling.

"Good…good; you did great…" he told her, caressing her shoulder lightly. "It's done…"

She felt safe in the crook of Marshall's arms and she liked his hands on her aching limbs, taking another deep breath to help get herself back in control.

"Okay…" Doctor Hanson called from his post. "You are not dilating so that's a good thing. I'm gonna get you set up with an ultrasound and we'll figure out what's up."

With that, he left the stool and wheeled over the ultrasound machine and started hooking it up. He was only part-way finished before he mentioned needing another something-or-other – Mary had stopped listening – and went to find a nurse to retrieve the missing link. Mary was glad to see him leave and she appealed to Marshall, still standing above her, trying to convey what she was feeling without falling apart.

"Marshall…I'm so tired; I don't want to do this anymore…"

"I know Mare; I'm sorry," he stroked her hair, brushing a few strands behind her ears. He gave her cheek a little pat before he went on. "But the ultrasound's not gonna hurt and then they'll know what's going on."

"Marshall, everything hurts…" she heard a whine inch its way through, repulsed with herself for it and she shook her head at the phrase.

"You're doing fine," Marshall told her, gallantly ignoring her slip of emotion and leaving his hand on her back now. "They're gonna figure this out…"

His words trailed away as Doctor Hanson returned with a female nurse and they resumed their all-but-installation of the ultrasound machine. Mary was grateful they remembered to cover her bottom half when they pulled up her gown to do the sonogram. After all, they didn't know who Marshall was and Mary was feeling more and more humiliated by the second with her belly exposed.

The screen flickered to life and Mary tensed immediately, knowing at once that this was the be-all, end-all. She remembered the first time she'd heard that tiny heartbeat, completely bewildered by the sound as though it was something foreign and fleeting. She hadn't understood it at the time, and now she wondered if the noise would ever pass through her ears again. Her breaths quickened with her nerves and they sounded strangely loud in the small room. This made her feel even thinner, like everyone was watching her.

It was Marshall's voice that brought her back.

"Shh…" he murmured quietly. "Shh…stay calm…"

He helped her sit up a little and started rubbing neat, concentric circles on her back. She was still shaking, which was disconcerting to him but he hoped the movements would help her, even marginally.

The nurse began to navigate the wand along her tummy, pulling in lines and darts, following some sort of inordinate pattern.

"Be gentle…" Marshall cautioned without thinking and the nurse gave him a warm smile, much more sincere than anyone they had met so far.

With a sputter, the image of Mary's baby melded into the screen and Marshall felt a lump in his throat at the sight, but knew this didn't mean anything yet. It was obvious the kid was still there – whether or not it was still breathing was another thing all together. Marshall continued to caress Mary's back, hoping to ease her aching muscles, and he felt her reach for his hand, giving it up at once. They clung, palm-to-palm, and he transferred his right hand to her shoulder now, pausing with warm pressure.

The silence was deafening; Mary had stopped trying to breathe and Marshall was unintentionally holding his breath along with her. He could feel every fiber in his body on high alert, every thud in his chest as he listened for that fateful beat. He found himself gripping her shoulder harder now, but she was numb, her eyes tracing the navigation of the wand.

And then it came through – a steady _wham-wham-wham _and Marshall saw the white light on the sonogram indicating the little one's beating heart. He and Mary sighed in unison, their relief flooding the room; the sound magnified by a hundred. Mary had previously gone rigid, she was so on edge, but now she shuddered again, the effort of holding herself so firmly wreaking havoc on her frail limbs.

"Okay…" Doctor Hanson reviewed the image as his nurse resumed the roads she was drawing on Mary's belly. "Let's see what we've got here…"

Marshall, so consumed with relief and knowing Mary had let it out and felt the same, crouched low behind her and wrapped his arms around her chest, if for no other reason than to stop her shaking.

"You're all right…" he murmured, close to her ear so the others couldn't listen in. "You're all right…"

He felt her nod but knew she was close to really falling apart, and he hoped they would figure out what was going on soon.

It took between five and ten minutes for them to complete their exam, rotating pictures on the ultrasound to get different views. They were showing parts of Mary's insides he didn't recognize, unable to discern what he was looking at. He could see Mary wearing thin as they prodded, switching over and trying to breathe again, but Marshall knew she didn't have much left. Doctor Hanson's expression turned slightly grave the longer he went on, and it was perhaps the fact that he couldn't bluff that made Mary snap.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, voice harsh with all the coughing she'd done. "Just tell me."

Doctor Hanson shot her a look and nodded at his nurse to dispense with the sonogram. She pulled Mary's gown back over her stomach and followed directions. The doctor rolled his stool to the far side of Mary's bed, so he wouldn't be looking at anything in the off-time, and clasped his hands as though preparing for a speech. Even as much as she wanted answers, she found herself speaking over him.

"What is it?" she repeated. "What's wrong?"

Marshall was still standing behind her, hand back on her shoulder now, waiting expectantly.

"Miss Shannon, it seems you have suffered a placental abruption, which is why you're in so much pain."

Mary didn't understand anything he'd just said. Her head was pounding and she felt sick again. Then she heard Marshall's voice above her.

"That's…where the placenta becomes detached from the uterus, correct?" he inferred and Doctor Hanson nodded.

This didn't sound good. This sounded terrible, and Mary could practically feel her blood pressure spike.

"My guess," Doctor Hanson began again. "Is that you fell or got hit somewhere during that fire, which caused the separation. Since the placenta is what nourishes your baby, it's no longer getting any nutrients and obviously, that's a problem."

"Obviously," Mary snapped, feeling extremely irritated and also terrified. What was going to happen now?

"So…where do we go from here?" Marshall asked the question for her and she was thankful.

"Well…the amount of smoke and toxins in your system was going to make it difficult for your baby to continue growing…"

Mary wished he'd quit calling it _her_ baby. But at the same time she didn't know what she wanted. All she could fathom was not being here. That was the only goal in mind right now.

"Between the two," Doctor Hanson was still talking. "Your baby just isn't going to be viable staying in utero any longer. I'm going to schedule an emergency C-section and get her out."

"What?!" Mary and Marshall exclaimed at the exact same moment.

Marshall shut up, but Mary was horrified and couldn't stop her mouth running off.

"No-no-no-no-no," she shook her head and even chuckled bitterly before she continued, "That's not happening; it's _not_ happening. It's way too early; it isn't time yet…"

"Mary…" she barely heard Marshall behind her and she shook him away, trying to make this quack see what was wrong with his plan.

"I am only thirty-two weeks," she stated firmly. "Did you miss that? I still have eight weeks to go, there's no way…"

"Miss Shannon, I know this is unexpected," the way he was completely ignoring her freak-out was infuriating. "But I'm afraid there's just no other option at this point. Babies come at thirty-two weeks more than you think. It's not ideal, but we'll have a better idea of what we need to fix once she's out."

Mary hated that word, 'fix' but Marshall thought he'd heard the slip of the tongue the first time and hurried to clarify.

"Her?" he whispered.

The doctor's eyes transferred to Marshall's face and then back to Mary's, realizing his blunder at once. Such was the problem of the on-call physician. He shut his eyes and had the grace to look ashamed.

"I apologize. I thought you knew."

Mary was paying no attention and plowed on with her steadfast approach to prevent being cut open and becoming a mother eight weeks early.

"I won't sign off on it," she declared recklessly. "You need the mother's consent and you're not getting it."

She crossed her arms over her middle, knowing she was being immature and juvenile, making things difficult but the fear was cloaking her like a blanket, making her feel trapped and lost. There was no way this could happen now. She was no mother and she'd seen to it from the very beginning. There was no place for her daughter – her _what_? – to go. She was not equipped to handle this – not now, not ever.

"Miss Shannon, I'm afraid this isn't subject to discussion. I'll schedule you to go to the OR in about a half hour, and send someone in to get you prepped…"

Marshall cut him off, "Could you…maybe give us a second?" he requested. "Before you start the prep?"

Mary was about to come undone and she would flay him alive if he let it happen in front of this stranger, chock full of bad news.

"Are you the father?" he asked Marshall as he stood from the stool, already headed for the door.

"No, I just let some random egghead come off the street to see my hoo-hah!" Mary shouted.

Doctor Hanson cast her a very odd look of bewilderment before she butted in again.

"Of course he's the father!"

Marshall tried not to show how stunned he was by this bald-faced lie. But, Mary knew if she hadn't fibbed, especially convincingly, her partner would get himself kicked out and there was no way she could let that happen. Her mother and Brandi were God knew where and she didn't want them in the delivery room anyway – their drama would suck the life out of the place.

"I can give you about five," Doctor Hanson said, referring to the minutes. "Then we'll have to get things moving."

"Thank-you," Marshall inclined his head and the man left the room.

Marshall immediately whirled back around to face Mary, fully intending to talk her down and make her see reason, but she had none of it.

"Marshall, this is insane," she even hit the bed for emphasis. "Now, you've gotta man-up here. Flash your badge, put on your big girl panties, and stop them from going through with this. There's gotta be something else they can do so this kid stays where she's supposed to until I'm forty weeks!"

"Mary, this is not something I can control," he told her gently, leaning forward and looking into her green eyes, wide with alarm. She was all sweaty again and she'd started coughing in her desperation to make him see.

"The baby is not gonna make it if she stays in, and who knows what could happen to you?" he rationalized. "They get her here, they can give her the help she needs, and then they can start to get you healed up. It sounds bleak right now, I know, but this is the best they can do."

Her gaze wavered slightly and he knew she was falling into the exhaustion, tired of struggling and flashing her claws, but he also knew she was terrified, whatever attempts she made to conceal it from him.

"Mare, I'm gonna be with you," he reminded her, putting the lie to bed for the time being. "I'll stand right by your side; no one's gonna be able to keep me away."

Mary was touched by his sentiment but she was overwhelmed and shaky once more, feeling outside herself and yet so locked-up all at the same time. There were a thousand things she should've done before this moment and not one of them was in place. Mark didn't even know she was pregnant. She was supposed to meet with an adoptive family in just a few days. She didn't even have anything to take this kid home in.

"Marshall…I don't…" she paused and swallowed. "I don't have a…crib or clothes or…" her plea trailed away.

This information was new to Marshall. She wouldn't need those things unless…

"Mary, you're not…keeping the baby," he tried to state it as a fact, but the hesitation he felt still made its way through. Could he be understanding correctly?

"I just meant…" she began uncertainly, but then she changed her mind. "I know. Right."

Deciding that this baby wasn't going to be able to go 'home' to anywhere for awhile even after she was born, Marshall let this revelation slide and eased himself onto the bed next to Mary, near her stomach. He took up her hand once more, hoping the touch would recall her to him, for she was rubbing her temples and looking faintly ill.

"Is there anything you need before they get started? Anything I can do?" he asked quietly, patting her fingers.

Mary sighed, free hand still over her eyes and she exhaled again.

"I need to…" she shook her head and then just said it. "I need to talk to Mark, but…"

She couldn't take that right now, even though she knew it was unfair and unjust, especially to Mark himself.

"When Brandi gets here, will you see if she'll call him?" Mary asked. She sounded queasy at the thought, but Marshall admired her ability to step-up at a time like this.

"Yes, absolutely," he was quick to agree. "And I will check with Stan to see if he managed to get a hold of your mom before they roll you in. Oh, and you know what else…?" he was suddenly full of brilliant ideas. "They said your OB – Doctor Reese? – is guest-lecturing somewhere but I wonder if Doctor Wolk could step in for her."

Doctor Wolk was the physician they dealt with in WITSEC and although he knew it was a long shot, he was willing to place the calls so Mary could be with someone she knew. It would make her infinitely more comfortable.

"You want me to see if she can?" he asked, waiting for confirmation.

Mary nodded, running a finger under her nose to keep it from dripping because tears were not far away. She couldn't let Marshall see her like this. It was so-so embarrassing.

"Yes," she nodded one more time trying to get a grip. "That'd be great; thank-you." To keep from coming apart she said, "I really need to pee; I should probably go before they get in here."

Marshall was a little startled by the shift in mood, but he decided to take it and he got off the bed so she could get out. Leaving her to her own devices, he stood and whipped out his phone and started scanning his contacts for Doctor Wolk's number. He doubted whether he'd get her on her cell, but he was prepared to phone several departments in the hospital to see if she was available.

A couple texts came through while he was searching, and he had to ignore them to try and find the best digits to call. He became so engrossed he neglected to notice that Mary was simply sitting on the opposite side of the bed, her back to him. She hadn't made it to the bathroom yet and her head was bent, hands splayed on either side of her.

"You need help?" he asked.

Shutting his phone, he strode around to the opposite side and saw at once that mobility was not the issue.

His best friend was sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks and dampening her face, dotting the bedspread, her whole body shaking with tremors. Marshall sighed, but was almost grateful to see her finally give in and he sat softly next to her, careful not to jostle the bed.

"Come here…" he whispered, wiggling his fingers in toward his chest. "Come on…come here…"

Seeing that she was going to have to be coached, he gathered her shuddering, sobbing form into his arms and held her close, rocking her slowly back and forth as she cried. She hiccupped against his shirt and buried her face into him, the cotton soft on her sweaty cheeks.

"Please don't tell anyone," he heard her thick voice, muffled inside his shirt.

That she was crying – she didn't want anyone to know she was crying.

"It's okay…" he said softly. "Do whatever you need to do; there's no one else here."

He couldn't imagine what she must be feeling. She was tired and humiliated and scared. Marshall wished beyond all he possessed that he could do something to make her feel better.

"I can't…" he heard her again, this time raising her head a little and staring into his big blue eyes. "I can't…Marshall, I just can't…"

She could and she would and Marshall was convinced of it. But how to make her understand the same thing?

He reached out and smoothed her hair again, tucking in the loose strands and rubbing her back now that she'd pulled away from him slightly.

His mantra when it came to Mary, 'Tell me what you need' tumbled through his mind, but for some reason, it didn't seem appropriate for this set of circumstances. She didn't know what she needed; she was completely aimless and at the mercy of others, something she hated more than anything in the world.

"Tell me what you want," he said instead, just giving her the opportunity to express what she was feeling without fear of ridicule.

The words brought on a second cascade of sobs and he tugged her in next to him again, sheltering her in his arms as she let herself go. He kneaded her shoulders this time, wanting her to get some relief as he waited for her answer.

The 'want' made Mary think of tiny little Cassidy, safe in her father's arms. All hurt and worry washed away and forgotten, able to put all her hopes and dreams into someone who knew what to do with them and would never let her down. She longed more than ever for that trust in someone who was supposed to take care of her and guide her through the fire. All she could hear was Cassidy's voice amongst the flames and she couldn't stop the words from spilling out of her mouth.

"I want my dad," she cried and the admission made her feel ill with shame and regret.

Wanting someone who would turn his back the minute things got too hard, who had betrayed her in the worst possible way. The one who had made her the mess she was today.

Marshall knew this was tantamount to defeat for Mary, her way of throwing in the towel and not wanting to fight anymore. And the worst part of it was, he knew her father's presence in this moment would only make things worse, not better.

Instead of saying this, he laid a warm kiss on the top of her head and pulled her out of his arms to face him. Her cheeks were streaked with wetness, misery and fear etched in every line of her face. He could only vow to her what her father had not.

"I'm here," he whispered firmly. "I'll take care of you," it was a noble undertaking, something he'd wanted to do for a long time. It seemed this was one of the few moments where she'd actually take such pledges being broadcast. "Is there anything I can do to make this right?"

'Right' was probably the wrong word to use. Marshall reflected on this even as he clutched at his rickety friend, shuddering in his chest another time. Even so, he had not really gotten an answer to his prior proposition and there had to be _something_. Anything.

"Promise me…" she gulped, surprising Marshall just a little by having an answer.

"Promise you what?" he prodded politely, patting Mary's back. The movements did the trick and she broke free again, swiping at her eyes, which had fast become bloodshot. "You know just how well I do 'promises.'"

She sure did. It was the biggest one he was ever going to have to make, but Mary could trust him. She didn't care how irrational or how improbable. The time was now, even if such a thing would never come to pass.

"If anything happens to me…" she choked and hiccupped at the same time, very nearly going to pieces once more. But then the words came, "Promise me you'll take her."

It was too much. She was lost in the very idea, but Marshall knew even as his heart tattered on its string that he could not make her feel foolish for asking. He could not pummel her full of reassurances. Nothing about this was unprecedented when you considered her pining for her father. She was a woman who didn't know where her child was going to go, and even though it was fairly obvious Mary was going to survive, the doubt forever lingered. He was the very definition of 'just in case.'

And that was why Marshall leaned inward and kissed his partner's forehead; feather-light and tender.

"I'd be honored," he whispered.

XXX

**A/N: Oh, Mary. All jammed up and nowhere to go; deep down, I always believe she pines for James in those moments where she is truly lost. She's that little seven-year-old at heart that needs him to come home.**

**But, she has Marshall! And, I made sure to show she knows he's no slouch. In the most dire of circumstances, she wants confirmation her little one will be somewhere safe – even if there is never a need for it.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I want to clear just a few things up in case there is confusion (and maybe there isn't!) Mary asking Marshall to 'take the baby' was supposed to be a moment of desperation. She never, in her wildest dreams, imagined she would be in the position she's in and she has no place for the baby to go. It was meant to be viewed as a 'she'll make a choice when the dust settles' kind of thing. And honestly, her asking him was only used so you can see just how much she trusts him. She believes she can't possibly decide right now, and so she needs confirmation of something should she remain in limbo. Hopefully that makes sense!**

XXX

Half an hour later, Marshall was waiting outside the doors to the operating room, dressed in a pair of baggy blue scrubs. He knew Mary was already inside, but he hadn't seen her since they'd made him exit while they got her prepped and ready for the C-section. Although he was reluctant to do so, it gave him time to talk to Stan and get the logistics on Jinx. Brandi had finally arrived, tearful and blubbering, distraught with guilt over the fact that she hadn't been able to see Mary before she went into surgery. Jinx had been reached and was on her way and, by all accounts, was taking the news much better than her youngest daughter.

It was, again, Stan who had been able to pull the strings and get Doctor Wolk to perform the cesarean, but it was Marshall who waited for her arrival outside the double doors. It also granted him a few minutes to become level-headed so he wouldn't show Mary during the operation how nervous he was. It had to be next-to-nothing compared to how she was feeling.

"Marshall…!" said a voice down the hall, and he turned to see Doctor Wolk rushing in, dressed for the occasion herself.

"They told me downstairs Mary's all ready to go," she reported, slightly breathy from the jaunt. "But what happened? I only got bits and pieces. Believe me, Marshall, I'm fine making the exception I just need some details."

"There was a fire," he sighed. "You know how we operate…"

He didn't have to elaborate because Doctor Wolk nodded, giving him permission to continue.

"Mary got stuck inside…"

"Oh geez…"

"Yeah," Marshall bobbed his head, indicating his agreement. "I got her out but she had a placental abruption; they didn't think the baby would last much longer in the womb."

"Man alive…" Doctor Wolk shook her head. "Woman doesn't know how to stay out of trouble, does she?"

Marshall surprised himself by chuckling; knowing it was because he was certain Mary would appreciate still being looked at as some sort of lioness – rugged and head-of-the-pack.

"That's our Mary," he said in response to her proclamation.

"Is she all right?" the doctor inquired again. "I mean…emotionally-speaking?"

Marshall shrugged, knowing he couldn't repeat this conversation to Mary at a later date.

"She was pretty upset," he admitted with a second sigh. "Kept it together as long as she could."

"Well, that's to be expected Marshall; don't be disheartened," the woman assured him with a quick stroke of his arm.

"I'm just glad she won't be by herself," he voiced aloud without thinking, and this definitely got the doctor's attention. She raised her eyebrows; there was a hint of amusement behind her features, and a little curiosity as well.

"Are you two…?" she started to say, and Marshall hastened to correct her assumptions.

"Oh, no – I just…" he let his explanation fall away and suddenly realized the humor in her eyes came from the fact that she'd figured out the pair of them had lied to get him in the delivery room.

"Please don't say anything," he begged quietly. "She was really scared and her family isn't here yet…"

Strictly speaking, this wasn't true anymore now that Brandi had showed up, but he couldn't fathom that kind of hysteria while Mary was being sliced open. Fortunately, he could tell even before she spoke that Doctor Wolk understood.

"Your secret's safe with me, Marshall," she nodded. "We better get going."

With a hard swallow and a deep breath, Marshall allowed the woman into the room ahead of him and followed, head held high, determined to be a steady force for Mary, whatever was going on inside him. On some level, he was morbidly excited. The baby would be tiny – maybe not even three pounds, as he had informed Mary only yesterday evening. But as of this moment, she was still Mary's daughter and Marshall couldn't wait to see her. The rest could work itself out.

The room they entered was dimly lit, a multitude of fluorescent lights shining onto Mary's form. She was flat on her back, separated from the operating equipment by an enormous blue curtain, which Marshall knew would conceal her from the incisions. A team of nurses stood beyond, trays of silver tools that glimmered under the light casting beams around the room.

He let Doctor Wolk have her moment of introduction before he approached Mary.

"Hey Mary," she greeted her, and her tone was both serious and even all at once. "How you doing?"

"Okay," Marshall heard his friend answer, and his heart soared with both sympathy and admiration listening to her put up the façade again.

"Don't worry," the doctor assured her. "We're gonna get you fixed up."

She turned back to Marshall and indicated for him to come in all the way, but she stopped him halfway there, extending a hand – a silent gesture for him to stay quiet while she spoke.

"You're really gonna have to keep her calm," she stressed in an undertone. "If she starts coughing it'll mess with her vitals and that could put her in distress. Got it?"

Marshall nodded, feeling the weight of the situation, heavy on his shoulders but he reminded himself once more that Mary's problems were far bigger than his. Doctor Wolk headed off to the other side of the curtain and Marshall was grateful. He was eager to get to Mary.

Seeing her face, he realized she'd been cleaned up a little, but her eyes were glassy and she looked fuzzy, like she wasn't processing correctly. He guessed the onslaught of medication had something to do with this; she'd been taken off the original IV and had a new one put in, as well as the epidural and spinal block for the surgery. After all that, Marshall was astounded she'd only thrown up once.

"Hey partner," he smiled softly, hoping this would relax her.

She just stared, enraptured by seeing his face, noticing he'd tended to the gash she'd left there, blossoming with a dull bruise now. He was the only thing that mattered right now. He was safe and secure and he wouldn't let her fall. He'd already seen to it.

"Flying high?" he tried to joke about the vacant look on her face, but she just shook her head.

"Is Jinx here?" she asked quietly.

Again, Marshall was not offended. Sometimes, a child needed their mother and he'd be hard-pressed not to have guessed this was one of those times for Mary. He rubbed her shoulder and gave her an expression somewhere between a grin and a wince.

"No, not yet," he told her. "But Stan talked to her, and she's on her way. Brandi's here, though," he hoped this would please her.

She just nodded, eyes flitting to the curtain and back, knowing what was going on-on the other side and unable to forget it. He realized that speaking might cause her to feel ill, along with her apprehension about the situation at hand and decided it was probably best to just ask her if she felt like chatting.

"We don't have to talk if you don't want to," his way of posing permission. "It's okay if you need to rest."

"You can keep spouting," she approved.

Spouting – spouting his wisdom. She liked the sound of his voice. It was coveted with familiarity in this strange and sunken world she'd fallen into. But even as she allowed it, she found her mind was full with other thoughts she needed to express.

"Thank-you for calling her," she murmured.

"Who?" Marshall furrowed his brow. "Jinx?"

"No…" Mary didn't say, but she jerked her head toward the curtain, indicating Doctor Wolk and Marshall smiled once more.

"No problem," he insisted. "And it was Stan, actually. But I figure if I was gonna be on this table, gutted like a fish, I'd want someone I knew looking at the indignities of the situation."

He hoped his little analogy might help her to ease into things a little better, but she didn't bite. She just looked flat, sleepy, and frightened.

"I'll have to return the favor one day," she informed him, her own version of teasing right now, but he knew it was for his benefit and not her own. He also knew there was more behind it than the usual sarcasm.

"Care to elaborate?" he pressed on dangerously and saw the flash of silver behind the curtain, eyed the knife and immediately darted his gaze back to Mary. She'd seen him looking but chose to comment on his question instead.

"I can't repay you for this Marshall."

Guilt. It was guilt and shame and nothing more, and he had no desire to go down that road.

He bent his knees slightly so he was a little closer to her face and spoke softly, tenderly.

"You want to know how you can repay me?"

She waited and he saw her swallow, hanging on and anxious for his answer. And although Marshall understood every part of why she looked so alone and lost, so far from the Mary he knew and loved, he longed to see that sparkle in her eyes, just a glimmer of the old Mary inch its way through. He wanted to know she was still in there somewhere.

"Can you smile for me?" he whispered.

He expected to see her roll her eyes and scoff, become the partner with which he was so familiar, but she must've taken his suggestion to heart. The guilt had to have been brooding her something fierce, because she fed him the saddest, softest smile he'd ever seen, turning up the corners only briefly on both sides. But he surged with pride at seeing the effort and that _was_ Mary, through and through.

"Atta girl," he said approvingly, and she grinned of her own volition this time.

"What's happening?" she wanted to know. The medication was making her feel faintly dizzy and she struggled to stay in-bounds but she didn't want to slip away until she was sure of what was going on.

"How we doing?" Marshall relayed the question to the personnel on the other side of the curtain. "We got an ETA?"

Doctor Wolk looked up and Marshall saw the humor even behind her surgical mask. She was reveling in the strength of their friendship, reading Marshall's mind like an open book. He'd definitely worn his heart on his sleeve today.

"Two to three minutes," she reported. "Won't be long."

This news was valuable and he hoped Mary would appreciate it as he turned back to face her, but he curved around just in time to see her eyes flutter shut and take a deep breath. Lids still closed, she exhaled long and low out her mouth and it made Marshall take pause. She wasn't supposed to be hurting anymore.

"Everything okay?" he asked, hoping he sounded unalarmed.

Between breaths, she made an indistinct noise in her throat that sounded like, 'oof.' Marshall might've laughed at the slip if he knew things weren't so dire.

"Yeah…" she finally said, and let her eyes shift open again. "Just…feels like someone left a load of bricks in my gut and now they're wrenching them out."

Doctor Wolk heard this because she called a question, "What are you feeling, Mary? Pressure or tugging?"

A second hitch in her gasps before she could answer, "Both," but it came out so pinched Marshall doubted Doctor Wolk had picked it up.

"She says both," he reported quickly. "Is the pain customary? I didn't think…"

"It shouldn't be pain, Marshall," the woman interrupted politely while she worked. "Just a lot of push and pull; that's all she can feel," another promise. "Mary, it doesn't hurt, does it?" she ventured just to appease the man's reservations.

After a moment, he saw her head move side-to-side with a whisper, "No. Not really."

At this, Marshall reflected over the doctor's prior words of encouragement and decided he could relay that news to Mary. Another minute had likely gone by, which meant they could start counting down the seconds.

"You're almost there," he promised and she nodded her understanding, but he could still see the overwhelming look in her features. It was the inability to comprehend what to do or where to proceed from here.

"What then?" she murmured, proving his theory.

"Well, you're going to have quite the impressive incision," why he said that, he didn't have a clue but he was trying to keep things light.

"Marshall…" she whispered. "If there's something wrong with her…"

"Don't make assumptions," he interrupted, sensitive but definite. "You can't play the 'what if' game; you've never been good at it."

And he reached out and clasped her fingers, squeezing hard, and he felt hers twisting and turning inside his palm, intertwining against his soft skin. He just pressed in on the grip, showing her that he was there and he wasn't leaving any time soon.

"But, I just…" Mary started to say again, but something blasted her next words right out of the air.

"Okay Mary; we've got her…" came the sound of Doctor Wolk's voice and Marshall spun his head around so fast he was surprised he hadn't gotten whiplash. He was so over-eager to see this little girl, but knew at once Doctor Wolk's proclamation wasn't routine. There was no excitement, no thrill of the reveal, and most gut-wrenching of all – no cry to accompany the birth.

"What's going on?" Marshall asked immediately so he could get the news to Mary before she worked herself into a tizzy.

"Give us a second, Marshall…" Doctor Wolk requested and he waited as patiently as he could, Mary doing the same beneath him, as she could hear every word.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw Doctor Wolk lift the smallest, most minute little baby he had ever seen into the air. She was so tiny – three pounds in his mind hadn't been large, obviously, but she was even littler than he'd anticipated. She was covered in streaks of blood and Mary's insides, still scrunched from her seclusion in the womb. He wanted to run to her, touch her and hold her, somehow pass strength into one so small. But it was a nurse who took her aside, and Marshall felt ice flood his body as he realized what she was doing – she was trying to resuscitate this little being, just a few seconds old. This meant she wasn't breathing and Marshall flashed his harried glance to Doctor Wolk.

He knew Mary couldn't hear as she murmured under her breath, "She's not getting oxygen, but sit tight. Keep Mary calm."

She may not have heard, but Mary wasn't stupid.

"Where is she?" she turned to Marshall at once. "Where is she; what happened?"

"Mare, she just…"

But it was like the heavens opened up and the light shined through, a beacon in their dank room as the little girl whimpered and began a very shaky cry. Marshall was so happy to hear it he covered his relief very well, and smiled down at his partner.

"She's right here. She's out," he ran his hand over her hair, but Mary didn't look nearly as pleased as he was expecting.

"All right – get her length and weight and send her right to the NICU," Doctor Wolk ordered, sounding official and businesslike. "I'm gonna get Mary stitched up."

"The NICU?" Mary was so confused as she appealed to Marshall. "What is that?"

"It stands for the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," he explained softly. "Once she's there…"

But Mary didn't let him finish. She'd finally heard two words she knew and their familiarity was not a comfort, it was a death sentence.

"Intensive Care?" she felt her throat closing up in her agitation and anxiety to do something. She felt completely hopeless.

Marshall was about to tell her not to worry, however trite that sounded, when a second bit of news was revealed that didn't help the situation in the least.

"Fourteen and a half inches…" one of the nurses reported to another. "Three pounds, two ounces."

Scarcely three pounds; she'd barely made it. Although Marshall had informed Mary how big the baby was going to be, the disclosure was suddenly upsetting her. Three pounds was nothing. How was she supposed to survive?

"Three pounds…?" Mary was choking up now, unable to hide it, still feeling fresh and raw from her meltdown only some thirty minutes before.

"Mary, it's normal and they're gonna take her to the nursery to see what else she needs," Marshall assured her, but there was no convincing her now. He saw the tears fill her eyes, fat and round in the corners, and her voice shook with her next words.

"I can't see her?"

_Yeah_, Marshall thought. _There was no replacing that._

It was Doctor Wolk who answered.

"As soon as she's stable, Mary, we'll have someone take you down to the NICU."

This did nothing to ease his partner's mind and Marshall saw the baby being taken out a door at the opposite end of the room, saw the nurse disappear, shielding the tiny little creature in her arms. Unexpectedly, it was even hard for him to see her rushed away in seconds, but the sound of Mary below drove all his loss right out of his head. She was crying again and he knelt down, slipping one hand awkwardly underneath her back, flinging his other arm over her chest so he spoke right next to her ear.

"Don't…" he whispered urgently. "Don't…"

Another sob escaped and then she descended into gentle quivers once again.

"Just give it some time…" he urged. "You're gonna be able to get some sleep now and then you'll feel better."

Now she nodded, giving in and buying into Marshall's words. Before he stepped up from his splayed position, he had to let her know something else.

"You were a champ," he praised. "You did great, okay?"

She nodded again, feeling foolish, vanished, with this wave of emotion, not even sure why she was weeping or what for. She saw Marshall stand again, unable to keep his hands to himself, letting one rest on her shoulder as she sniffed and tried to regroup.

"How did she look?" Mary whispered.

Thoughts of size and stature and the inability to gasp for life soared clear from Marshall's mind.

"Beautiful," he answered honestly. "Just like you."

XXX

**A/N: Not exactly the joyous euphoria that usually accompanies birth, but we must consider the circumstances. Thank-you, again, for all the reviews. You guys have made my week, and if you continue tonight you'll be making my BIRTHDAY super special! I turned twenty-four today.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thank-you all for the birthday wishes! As I wrote this part of the story a year ago, the baby's birthday matching mine was totally unintentional! An extra thanks to Jayne and Jessica for writing me birthday fan-fiction. Very sweet of both of you!**

**I think you will enjoy this chapter – lots of Marshall!**

XXX

It didn't take long for Mary to crash once Doctor Wolk sewed her up and sent her back to a room to recover. Marshall watched her battle hard to stay awake and find out what was going on with the little girl in the NICU, but she reached a point where she could manage no longer. It took only a mild sedative to get her snoozing and that was it. He conferred with Doctor Wolk and the rest of her team once Mary was asleep to find out how long his partner would have to stay in the hospital. It was vague and disconcerting; the incision from the surgery on top of the smoke inhalation was going to hamper her recovery slightly, but they'd know more soon.

Although he wanted to stay with Mary even as she dozed, he decided it was best to return to the waiting room to sit with Brandi, Peter, and Jinx. He felt it was probably important to brief Jinx as well; Mary had seemed uncharacteristically desperate to see her and he didn't want the woman blindsided unnecessarily.

He'd already visited with Brandi momentarily before Mary had been wheeled in, but he'd yet to see Jinx. When he entered the waiting room, he caught a glimpse of Brandi asleep with her head on Peter's shoulder. He was sipping coffee sedately; obviously afraid to move in case Brandi woke. It was almost midnight by this time and he knew the group was wearing thin with worry.

Jinx jumped up immediately at the presence of Marshall, and even though her usual frantic demeanor lingered, she looked determined to hold up. He was grateful for that.

Without a word, she strode up to Marshall, all-purpose, and wrapped him into her arms. The hug felt nice, oddly enough, and he smiled softly behind Jinx's back.

"You saved her life, Marshall," the brunette whispered. "You saved them both. Thank God you were there."

Marshall let his fingers tickle her back slightly in comprehension of her declaration. He knew someone had been out to inform the group Mary had delivered, so that was one less thing for him to explain. Slipping out of Jinx's grasp, he saw that she was pale but resolute in her announcement.

"It was my pleasure," he said. "Mary's my best friend; I'd die before I let anything happen to her."

Dramatic, yes. Untrue? Never.

"How's she doing?" Jinx persisted, indicating for Marshall to sit in the chair next to her, which he obeyed.

"Sleeping, finally," he replied honestly. "I think she'll be out for awhile; she was exhausted."

"Yes, of course…" Jinx nodded, not as though she expected as much, but as though she wanted very much to give her daughter what she needed, and Marshall was glad for that too. "Oh, I should've been here, she must've been so frightened…" she fretted.

"It's okay," Marshall told her quietly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Nobody saw this coming, and the last thing Mary would want is for everyone to put their lives on hold on the off-chance she might've popped eight weeks early."

At the noise, Brandi began to stir across from Marshall and Jinx; Peter guided her into a sitting position and she rubbed her eyes before speaking. It took a few blinks and a kiss from her fiancée until words were unleashed.

"Hi Marshall," she murmured, lids still red-rimmed from the crying she had done earlier. "How's Mary?"

"Sleeping," he repeated. "But okay."

"What happened?" Brandi asked suddenly, nearly speaking over the man.

Marshall was confused. She knew what had happened – or at least, enough to understand what was going on. There had been no concealing the fire from the group; it had been on the news, even if Mary's face hadn't. Apart from that, he and Stan hadn't revealed much to the Shannon's in their usual keeping with WITSEC policy. As it was, Marshall wrinkled his eyebrows to try and get a handle on what Brandi wanted.

"I'm not sure I…"

"Why was she in that school?" her voice was abnormally accusatory and her blue eyes flashed in a threatening sort of way, tears ready to spill over again any second. "I want to know."

"Brandi honey…" Jinx began sweetly, but her younger daughter wasn't going to be baited into a false sense of security.

"I am sick of this!" and she stood up; Peter did the same and whispered something that Marshall didn't hear, but Brandi paid no attention. "I am sick of being terrified every time Mary trots off to work that she's gonna end up dead! It's like when she was shot all over again!"

Marshall was about to apologize for the circumstances, wanting to say he sympathized with being kept in the dark, but Jinx was faster. And her words shocked him.

"Brandi, you stop this!" she flared up at once and got her face, jabbing her finger inches from her nose. "This is not about you! Whatever Mary was doing is none of our business; it's _her_ life and _her_ choice and you make your peace with it! Did you even thank poor Marshall for God's sake?!"

Marshall himself was flabbergasted, and with a pang he wished Mary had been there to see her mother take up for her against the favored baby sister. He couldn't really blame either one of them; Brandi was frightened and had no explanations to ease her mind. He knew she would calm with time.

Reflecting on Jinx's words, Brandi's eyes flashed to Marshall, but he just shook his head.

"It really isn't necessary," he assured her. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that this happened, Brandi. But…Mary's not one to sit on the sidelines. Woman's got a mind of her own."

Tearfully, Brandi nodded her acceptance but all her mixed-up feelings became overpowering and she began to cry once more; Peter folded her into his embrace and kissed her temple.

"I'm sorry…" she sobbed. "I just…"

Marshall joined the other three individuals, already standing, and rumpled Brandi's hair affectionately.

"I understand," he whispered. "It's not a problem. Try to get some rest; I know Mary wouldn't want you worrying yourself sick and she's gonna be out for awhile."

"Okay," Brandi nodded thickly, head lost in Peter's arms. "Thank-you Marshall. For everything."

He left Brandi and Peter to their own devices and motioned for the breathless Jinx to join him across the room, away from the other two. She looked a little bewildered, but took the hint and followed him to a secluded corner so they wouldn't be overheard. Why he felt the need to keep this private he wasn't sure – maybe because Mary didn't appreciate her sentimental moments being broadcasted and he wanted to respect that.

He and Jinx sat side-by-side, the woman wringing her hands and flexing her fingers nervously as she eyed Brandi across the room. She was dressed in a pair of old jeans, one knee sporting a hole, and a pink top with buttons. Marshall doubted she'd worn this outfit to her dance competition, which meant she'd been home to change.

"I'm sorry about my…outburst," Jinx said, cocking her head to one side as she forced the last word out. "Mary can't stand when we fight."

"Don't beat yourself up," Marshall put his hand back on her shoulder. "And I hesitate to mention, but Mary would be proud of the way you stood up to Brandi. Although, I don't blame her for wanting answers."

"No…no…" Jinx whispered distractedly. "I don't either. It just…makes Mary so angry when we butt in, and look at the state she's in. I can't make it worse."

There were about six different things in this sentence the old Jinx never would've uttered. Marshall had to admit he'd found Mary's yearning for Jinx to be a little odd, but it had been awhile since he'd spent time with the woman and she wasn't the same as he remembered. Sobriety painted her in an entirely different and much brighter color. The weight in his chest was lifting thinking she might be a real help to his partner after all.

"I know she needs her rest," Jinx was saying. "I just wish I could talk to her. Although, I'm sure I'm the last person she wants to see…" she added in a shameful undertone.

Marshall to the rescue once again.

"You'd be surprised," he invited, dangling the prospect like a carrot. Jinx turned her face to his, lined with disbelief but also hope.

"She was asking for you," he told her, knowing she deserved the reward for her level head and take-charge attitude with Brandi. "You've obviously got something she wants."

Jinx sighed, clasping her hands over her mouth, looking touched, staring at something beyond – something Marshall couldn't see.

"Marshall I'm…" she shook her head and looked at the ground. "I'm sure…Mary's told you I was not exactly mother-of-the-year when she was growing up. She thinks I drove her father away and to be fair, I probably did. But she was so distraught when he left…to know that I was responsible for that…"

Marshall hadn't meant to make he feel worse. He'd wanted her to see she was an important, vital part of her daughter's life, whatever her mistakes in the past, even if the past wasn't so distant. He hesitated and then put his arm around her.

"Whatever happened back then is over," he consoled her with the thought. "There's still today and you can be here for Mary now."

Jinx nodded and then reached up to pat Marshall's cheek lovingly, a humane-looking smile on her pallid face.

"She adores you Marshall, you know that?" apparently he wasn't the only one revealing secrets. "She may not show it, but she loves you."

The words were eerie to hear spoken aloud, and he was pretty sure Jinx wasn't referring to the sort of adoration that ran deep in his veins for Mary. But, knowing she had somehow conveyed to her mother how she felt was something. Something big.

"What are partners for?" was his response with a weak chuckle.

Jinx nodded into silence, her head bobbing as though of its own accord just for something to do. Marshall could see how tense she was and despite how concerned he was for Mary, at least he'd seen her, been with her until not-so-long ago. Jinx hadn't had the opportunity and only his word to go on. Add on the obscurity of what was going to happen to the baby and he was astounded she'd held up this well.

"I'm really…trying to keep it together Marshall," she admitted, as though she'd sensed what he'd been thinking. "But she's my baby…"

He heard the tears in her voice even as she gulped and reined them in. Marshall sighed and put his arm around her again, jostling her opposite shoulder lightly.

"I know it's tough to reconcile right now," he conceded. "But for all intents and purposes, she's on the mend. It's just gonna be a slow road back to civilization," and he knew that was what would bother Mary most. "And if baby girl Shannon is anything like her mother, she's gonna fight tooth and nail to keep that heart of hers beating."

He knew if Mary had been around, he wouldn't have referred to her as the baby's mother; despite the nagging doubt in the back of his mind as he remembered her worry over cribs and clothes. There was indecision in there somewhere, but he had to be careful not to feed it.

However, he didn't hear Jinx's answer because a familiar face entered – one that had been completely driven from his mind until now. His guilt was starting to fit like an old shoe as his eyes snapped onto Abigail striding into their midst. He looked to Jinx, silently asking if it was okay that he leave her and she nodded warmly. He gave her arm another quick pat and stood to greet his girlfriend.

Right. His girlfriend.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Abigail wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him once before going on. "Am I glad to see you."

"Yeah…sorry," he apologized dismally, letting her hang her arms on his shoulders, staring up into his face. "Been a bit preoccupied."

"How's Mary?" she asked politely. "Last I heard from Chief McQueen she was still waiting to be looked at."

That seemed ages ago to Marshall. If Stan hadn't filled Abigail in, he certainly wouldn't have remembered. He'd have to be sure to thank him – for more than just that. Abigail was still looking at him expectantly, so he rushed to answer.

"Well, things definitely picked up from there," he began, but then found he was a little uncomfortable sharing the details with Abigail, mostly because he knew Mary wouldn't like it. He landed on the abbreviated version of events instead. "She had to have an emergency cesarean and the baby's down in the NICU."

"Oh goodness…" Abigail breathed, sounding sweetly sympathetic. "Is she okay now?"

Not sure whether she was referring to Mary or the baby, Marshall covered both, "The little one is touch-and-go; I haven't gotten details yet. Mary's resting; she's a little banged-up from the fire but they think she'll recover just fine."

"And how about you…?" Abigail leaned in, breathy, almost illicit. "How you doing?"

She didn't ask as though she was worried about his emotional state due to Mary's roller coaster of events. She seemed more concerned with his health and he found that completely unprecedented. Compared to what Mary had gone through, he'd obtained a bee sting.

"They checked me out a little while ago," he told Abigail, dragging back just a little so they weren't quite so close. "I'm good. Just a sore throat for the next week or so – because of the smoke."

"That's good to hear," Abigail claimed brightly, leaning up to kiss his cheek another time. The touch was flat to Marshall, like he'd felt it but hadn't noticed – whatever that meant.

Marshall guessed he was looking vacant, even with all the affection Abigail was showering on him, because she giggled in a sarcastic sort of way and furrowed her brow.

"You look a little worse for wear, sugar bug. You sure you're okay?" she asked.

He wasn't, but why would he be? His best friend – the woman he loved – had nearly died and her baby was in Intensive Care, and who knew what trouble she would have? It was overwhelming and putting all of his energy into Mary had kept him from realizing just how worn-out he was too.

"I'm just…lagged, you know?" he supplied blandly to satisfy Abigail's question. "Tired."

"Well, I would think so," Abigail continued, her hands finding his back now, squeezing once. "It's hard work being a hero."

Marshall scoffed and shook his head, but a smile didn't come with the scorn.

"That's not…" he began, but Abigail interrupted.

"Seriously, Marshall," she matched her gaze with his, trying to get him to look at her. "Mary owes you her life."

The rational part of him knew Abigail did not mean that the way it sounded, but it stung just the same. It made him feel as though Mary had been stupid or senseless, like she'd gotten herself into trouble like the neighborhood dog. She wouldn't even have been in the building if not for him. He was _not_ the victor here – it was his partner who had saved the life of a seven-year-old girl at great personal risk. The aftermath proved that.

"She doesn't owe me anything," Marshall said, a little more callous than he intended, and Abigail definitely picked up on it.

"Marshall, I didn't mean…"

"I know, I know," he nodded and shut his eyes, not wanting to fool with this right now. It wasn't even a blip on the radar. "Listen…" he glanced behind him at Mary's family; Jinx had rejoined Brandi and Peter. "I'm gonna be here for awhile; you should head home and take it easy."

Abigail nodded, but there was suspicion dancing behind her eyes as she agreed to his suggestion.

"You'll…call with an update later?" she asked hesitantly.

Marshall knew he owed her that and said, "Of course."

She nodded once more and saw herself out. Even though Marshall had planned to go back to Jinx, Brandi, and Peter, he remained stationary as Abigail exited. He felt vaguely unsettled. They hadn't exactly had a fight, but he knew he'd bothered her with his talk about her leaving and brushing off her compliments. But why had she been so eternally perky when it was clear he wasn't in the mood?

He couldn't think about any of this now, and the arrival of a second familiar face wiped the thoughts from his mind. Stan came in and signaled to Marshall from the double doors where he'd entered.

Marshall hadn't been able to give him the low-down on Mary's state-of-being before he'd returned to the office. He'd had to leave just as she'd gone into the operating room.

"Evening, inspector," he shook Marshall's hand briefly, grasping his fingers, and then, "What's the story on your better half?"

Under better circumstances, Marshall would've laughed. People always said _he_ was _Mary's_ better half, not the other way around. It was sweet of Stan to reverse it and he felt badly Mary hadn't heard it.

"Down in recovery for the time being," he reported. "Sleeping, thank Christ."

"And the baby?" Stan inquired with apprehension in his low voice.

"A girl," and a smile escaped without Marshall's consent just thinking about her, however small. "Three pounds, two ounces."

"Jesus, that's tiny," Stan exhaled and shook his head in disbelief. "She could _not_ have taken that well."

Stan knew Mary just about as intimately as Marshall did, and he was right on the money.

"I'm hoping she'll come to terms when she wakes up," Marshall shrugged unhopefully. "Which shouldn't be for awhile."

"All right," Stan sighed. "Well, the Cassidy situation is pretty much wrapped up, just FYI. She and her dad fly back to Utah to testify in a couple days, and then they're relocated again. Till then, they're bunking up here with a security detail, and those bastards that set the fire are already behind bars."

"You get an answer about motivation?" Marshall asked.

"They were trying to flush her out; Mary was right. If she hadn't taken her down that stairwell, God knows where that kid would be."

Marshall had thought hearing confirmation of Mary's instincts and intellect would make him feel better; help him settle up with the fact that this had all been for the greater good on some level. But it just reminded of him of who was supposed to be in that school and who wasn't. He had spent so much time in the last several hours trying to keep Mary from placing blame on herself for endangering her child, that it had helped squelch the fault he felt for asking her to go in the first place. She wasn't supposed to have been in the field. He'd broken the rules.

"Chief…" Marshall began to try voicing this aloud and Stan looked taken aback. Marshall never called him, 'Chief.'

"When you get the inquiry about Mary being severely injured in the line of duty at eight months pregnant – and you will – tell them that I take full responsibility," he informed his boss stoically.

"Marshall…" Stan murmured softly, but his inspector was determined to get this out.

"No," he stated firmly. "This was my doing. I was on duty and I pawned it off on Mary when you told us specifically that I was lead because of her condition…"

He knew Mary would slap him for calling it a 'condition' but he buried that thought.

"I didn't follow orders; it's on my head if you get in trouble. It's my fault Mary's lying in that bed, that her daughter might not make it…"

He'd intended to _own_ up, not _choke_ up and that was exactly what was happening as he realized the magnitude of his actions. But Stan, evidently, had other ideas.

"Marshall, cut it out," he pointed a threatening finger, just as Jinx had done with Brandi not long before. "That's enough. Mary is lying in that bed – _alive_…" he emphasized. "Because you are a kick-ass partner that saved her life, now I don't want to hear anymore of this crap," and his voice actually rose slightly to make Marshall comprehend.

In the back of his mind, Marshall had known this was true, but it still felt nice to hear it and he nodded his tolerance of the man's words.

"Did you ever stop to think about _why_ you let Mary take on that job?" Stan asked him, stepping in and putting a hand on his shoulder.

Marshall shook his head, "No."

"Because she's been miserable not being able to do what she wants most and no matter how small, you wanted to make her happy," he said.

Marshall hadn't honestly thought about it, but it made sense. However, his perception of sense was pretty shabby right now given everything he'd lived in the last nine hours.

"You wanted to give her what she loves," Stan was suddenly saying. "And whether you think so or not, there's something _very_ heroic about _that_."

XXX

**A/N: I myself miss Mary when I have to write a chapter without her, but I know many of my reviewers are die-hard Marshall fans, so I hope you enjoyed his feature here!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: My chapters have gotten a bit longer, I've noticed. Hopefully that isn't a bad thing!**

XXX

After chatting with Brandi and Jinx for awhile, Marshall managed to convince them to go to sleep while he sat with Mary even though she wasn't awake yet. Peter ran home to get some clothes for Brandi, and Marshall parked himself sedately at his partner's bedside. He was told she'd come to within the hour, which was around 2:30 in the morning. To Marshall, this meant it had been twenty-four hours since he'd spoken to Mary on the phone about Cassidy. A lifetime ago.

He was texting Stan and drinking coffee when he heard her stir.

Mary blinked slowly; her eyes felt so heavy she wasn't sure she'd be able to open them all the way. Blearily, she took in her surroundings with only half her usual focus. There was a window to her right, but it was dark outside. A machine was beeping obnoxiously somewhere nearby and she felt tape, sticky and tight on her arm, which meant she had IV – maybe more than one.

Her head was swimming. She only recalled bits and pieces of what happened, and just thinking seemed to make her feel sick. Full of fog and haze; it was like she was looking at the memories through a filmy, dirty strip of paper. All she could remember was the sound of that little girl crying before the tone disappeared, as though a switch had been flipped.

Blinking again, she turned her head ever-so-slightly to the left, toward the door, and saw Marshall sitting there. Hope and unexplainable optimism flooded her body; it only lasted for a moment, but the rush of gratitude was worth it. He'd promised and he hadn't let her down.

"Marshall?" she whispered so quietly she was afraid he wouldn't hear it.

Speaking was a bad idea. She felt her insides churn and was certain she was going to throw up, but she closed her eyes and vowed not to say anything, hoping this would prevent it.

Fortunately, Marshall did hear, which meant she didn't have to ask again.

"Hi," he smiled broadly and she wanted to smile back, but those muscles didn't seem to be working.

He reached out and rubbed her hair gently. His fingers tickled a little, but it was nice. The sensation also made her sleepy again.

"You're up," he observed, still with the hand on her head.

He let her blink a few more times, waking herself, before he asked any questions.

"How you feeling?"

His eyes held compassion and concern. Absurdly, it made her want to cry. And how she felt, now that he'd asked, was awful. Her stomach hurt, both inside and out, the outer region burning viciously, like there was a flare coursing through the skin.

"Lousy," she managed roughly, and she coughed from just the one word, making the burn sear painfully with a grimace. "Shit…"

The throb didn't taper right away and she breathed slowly, mostly through her nose to avoid choking again, and Marshall massaged her shoulder lightly. He was about to tell her to slow down, but should've known better when she beat him to the punch.

"What is this crap?" she murmured, rolling herself ungracefully onto her left so she could see all of Marshall. "I feel like someone punched staples in me."

"That's because they did," Marshall nodded, somewhat amused she'd come up with the analogy all by herself.

"What?" she looked alarmed and also puzzled. "What do you mean?"

He was still rubbing her shoulder and it was like his strength and his prowess was seeping into her, although the rhythm just made her want to drift off again. A couple sentences and she was already winded.

"You've got two incisions – one outside, one in," he reported.

"Jesus…" she shut her eyes, sick just thinking about it. She was literally confined to the bed, knowing she wouldn't even be able to walk in such a state.

"They stitched your uterus up with a horizontal incision and your abdomen the same way. The abdominal one's held in place with staples," he continued. "For want of a better term."

"That's disgusting…" Mary put a hand to her head, feeling lost inside her pillow. Had someone explained all this already and she'd missed it? How long had she been asleep?

Marshall, as he always did, sensed how overwhelmed she had become and patted her arm before finally putting his hand back in his lap.

"They might be able to give you something for the pain, but I don't know how that's gonna go since you're already on medication for the smoke inhalation," he offered uncertainly.

The IV's – well, there was another question she wouldn't have to pose.

Marshall noticed his partner was looking a little short of breath; she continued to exhale as best she could, but it was making her cough and he knew that was hurting her stitches because she grimaced again.

"Mare, I'm gonna sit you up; that might help you breathe a little better," he said and without waiting for her to answer, took up the remote hanging at the top of the bed and brought it up at the slowest speed, not wanting to upset her wounds.

Now that they were face-to-face, he saw that she was pretty pale and gaunt; ghost-like. But it was her eyes that worried him. She looked almost as scared as she had before the delivery, and he knew this wasn't about her state-of-being. She would bounce back if she had to throw herself down on the sidewalk to prove she'd rebound. This came from insecurities, and he was almost positive she was going to ask about the baby soon. The news was less-comforting on that front.

Instead of asking outright, he started a little easier.

"You okay?" he prodded delicately. "You seem upset," a casual sip of his coffee.

"What happened to the baby?" right on cue. "Where is she?"

Marshall knew her answer before he even made his query, but he couldn't stop himself from making sure. Sighing, he set his coffee on the table next to her bed and placed his hand in her lap, where her stomach had been so enormously rotund not long before.

"You're sure you want to discuss this now," he stated it like he wasn't asking, but he was. "Give yourself a little time to catch up first?"

"This is how I catch up," and even though she spoke softly, there was no mistaking the urgency. "Tell me what's wrong with her. I know it's something. You only look like that when some poor sap in the program blows his security and winds up dead in a ditch somewhere. Tell me it isn't that bad."

When Marshall hesitated, she felt faint and the next words came of their own volition.

"Marshall, tell me!" she demanded loudly and the roughness on her vocal cords caused her to cough again.

"Okay-okay…" Marshall held up a hand, signaling defeat, unwilling to withhold if it meant her getting all worked-up and hurting herself even worse than she already had.

He saw her swallow from nerves and he let his hand rest on her tummy, mindful of the sutures.

"It's her lungs, mostly," he began as gently as he could.

"From the smoke?"

"No, actually," he corrected. "She was just so early they aren't quite developed yet; she's having trouble breathing and they've got her on a ventilator."

He saw Mary, if possible, go even paler at this news, but he was quick to try and sunny it up.

"However," he interjected sharply. "She is what they call a moderately preterm baby. Thirty-two weeks is the cut-off point and you were just barely there, so she's a little smaller than they might expect at that time, but she's got a much better chance than if she'd been any sooner."

This did not make Mary feel any better. Marshall had said it was her lungs 'mostly' which meant there was more and she wasn't sure she could hear it without breaking down. That remained a mystery to her – why she felt like she was going to burst into tears at any moment. Was there something wrong with her too? That and the worry over this kid were really mixing her up. She was supposed to give her away and let someone more worthy be her mother. But, could she live with such a thing on her conscience, dumping her when she was so sick? And it was only because of Mary that she was.

And her father. His face was still mingling somewhere in the back of her mind and that was disturbing her more and more by the second.

"Apart from her lungs, she's jaundiced…" Marshall spoke over her thoughts, which caused her to shake her head and tune back in.

"What is that?" she asked before he could keep going.

"The simplest explanation is that her liver's not working quite right, but that one's an easy fix."

Mary didn't look convinced but he tried to smile and patted her beneath the covers.

"I swear."

Only her trust in Marshall could make her believe he was being honest. He'd learned a long time ago to give it all, or give it away. He wasn't allowed to sugarcoat things with Mary; she was a firm believer in the unvarnished truth, and this was no exception.

"Listen to me," he whispered, ethereal and hushed. "Really, she just has to catch up too. She needs to finish all the growing she was supposed to do while you were pregnant. They're keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn't suffer a setback. What I want _you_ to do…"

His shift surprised Mary, but she surprised herself by deciding to pay attention.

"Is concentrate on getting better. All the smoke inhalation is gonna make you weaker faster and your incision's gonna be really sore for awhile."

This was disconcerting and despite Mary's continual want not to have things glossed over and pounding this preference into Marshall, she suddenly wished he had left a few things out. How was she supposed to do her job all laid-up like this? Take care of that little baby on the ventilator? (At least until she figured out what the hell she was going to do with her.) Could she even live with the blame and the fear she felt for letting this kid land eight weeks too soon?

The onslaught of all this information was distressing and she didn't have the energy to keep the evidence off her face. Marshall slipped his hand behind her and rubbed her back gently for a few silent moments before speaking again.

"Will you be all right for a minute? I'm just gonna step out, okay?" he asked.

She wanted to tell him no, wanted to ask him to stay and never leave her side again, but she nodded instead, knowing if she spoke she would cry. He stood up and kissed her hair lightly. She made a mental note to hit him later for it. He threw her another smile as he stood in the doorframe, but she couldn't return the favor. Seeing this, he opted to just leave her in peace.

Mary had never felt like a bigger screw-up in her entire life. As she stared out the window at the navy sky beyond, her mind whirred with all the information Marshall had just given her. A little girl couldn't breathe because of her, and her liver was malfunctioning and God knew what else. Mary couldn't walk and whatever Marshall had meant by 'weaker' she didn't want to know.

An hour in a crumbling building had brought her life to a standstill. She couldn't be a Marshal. Her supposed-daughter had no definite home or even a definite lease on life. What was she supposed to do? Her future was bleak and blank, and no matter which way she turned it was fraught with problems. Keeping the baby meant she'd just be endangering her again, but giving her up made her heartless and cold. In any case, she couldn't do that when the little one was so ill.

And to add insult to injury, she just hurt. Her chest was tight, her throat was scratchy and her gut pounded painfully with every breath she took. Being this tired and having her head this fuzzy wasn't something she was used to, and she didn't anticipate coping with it very well.

Mary became so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't hear the door open, and she turned in an instant at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Mary, honey?"

Her vision, seconds before completely woolly and vague, cleared like waves calming on the ocean – steady and cool once more.

It was Jinx, gazing at her with a most peculiar look on her face. She knew, even before the other woman spoke again, that the look was one of tolerance and acceptance. She was waiting to see what Mary wanted, what she needed, without overwhelming her. She simply stood, peering halfway between the bed and the door.

Realizing she was staring, Mary blinked and tried to speak.

"Mom?"

Why did she phrase it as a question? She knew who she was.

But even as she said it, comfort of the strangest kind filled her veins. Jinx had been a screw-up once. It wasn't very kind or very tactful, but Mary wasn't known for either. She'd spent her whole life feeling apart from her mother and now she felt so much a part _of_ her. Messing up was something Jinx would understand.

Jinx must've thought Mary was having trouble expressing herself, because she ventured all the way inside.

"Oh darling, I am so glad to see you," her mother whispered sweetly, and she gently pulled Mary into her arms, letting her head rest inside her chest. It was oddly unobtrusive and simply felt warm and soft. Although Mary couldn't really hug her back, she liked the feeling of being protected from the fears dominating her thoughts.

"How's my brave girl?" Jinx whispered above her, and that did it.

Mary did not feel brave or courageous or valiant. She felt stupid and scared senseless and she just started bawling, unable to stop the tears from spilling out of her eyes and onto her mother's shirt. All she'd ever done was take care of people and she just couldn't do it anymore, both literally and figuratively. She wanted to stay in her mother's arms, to not care or think or have to deal with anything swirling around her in the present climate. She felt herself start shaking as her lip quivered childishly and a self-indulgent sob escaped.

"Oh, Mary…" Jinx was disheartened as she heard the tears. "Sweetheart, don't cry…" her mother implored, not because she wanted her to stop but because she knew her daughter despised the showing of emotions and it would only upset her again later.

"I don't even know why I am," Mary spoke thickly through the wetness, frustrated for not having a concrete reason why the sensation had just taken over, like it had a mind of its own.

"Honey!" her mother actually laughed as though Mary's words were preposterous, again with the affection. "You're exhausted and you're scared…"

Mary's mind told her to say she wasn't scared, but she was – merely put-out that Jinx had discovered it.

"Well, so?" she blubbered unattractively. "I've been exhausted and scared before..."

Jinx patted her back a few times, kissed her hair and pushed away from Mary so she could allow her to get a grip. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she was sniffling; Jinx extended a gentle finger and wiped the tears from under her lids. Mary smiled weakly and let her mother sit in the chair Marshall had just left. She took both her daughter's hands in hers, concealing them inside her own.

"This is different," Jinx shook her head knowingly. "Your hormones are all out-of-whack, sweetie."

"My what?"

"Your hormones," she reinforced gently. "Oh lord, I remember after I had you!" she chuckled at the memory. "Your father ditched me and spent the rest of the day in the nursery mooning over his new little girl. I got so angry I practically maimed the poor nurse who came in to tell me where he was."

Jinx laughed and Mary did too, surprisingly enough. It was sad and half-hearted, but she hadn't known that about her dad and appreciated that Jinx had thought to share it with her.

"It'll work itself out," her mother tapped Mary's hands, still in her lap. "Just like the rest."

"Mom, I…" now that Mary was talking, she figured it was probably best to get on with it. "I don't have a clue what to do. The baby – she-she – Marshall told me; she's so little and…I wasn't even supposed to keep her, but how can I…?"

Her head felt like it was rotating round-and-round on her shoulders just thinking about it, never mind how incoherent the vocalized thoughts were.

"Mary…" her mother let go of her hands and put her own palm to her cheek, brushing the loose strands of hair out of the way. "Now, I think we can both agree I am not the mother to consult on something like this…"

Mary sensed a 'but' coming, yet she cut in regardless.

"No – mom, I am lost. Did you hear? Not a clue. _Not a clue_," she emphasized. "Nobody could screw this up worse than I did."

"Darling, don't be so hard on yourself," Jinx said. "What I was going to say is that you have some time. The baby's going to be in the NICU for a couple weeks yet…"

A couple weeks? Mary hadn't known that.

"Take some time to think while you get better. You'll know where your heart lies."

Mary was astounded. Not one attempt to sway her decision or influence her choice. Nothing selfish or egocentric about it. Could this woman really be Jinx? Maybe her brush with death had switched the gears in her mother's mind. It was unfamiliar, but surprisingly pleasant too.

"Now, I didn't want to stay long," Jinx was saying, shocking Mary even more profusely as she stood up. "I just wanted to see you. My sweet baby girl…"

She smiled quietly, swooped down, and kissed Mary's cheek.

"You get some rest, okay?" she requested. "Brandi and I will be here when you feel up to it."

The mention of Brandi made her think of Mark. She'd forgotten to ask Marshall if her sister had made the phone call. But on top of everything else, it was just too much. She decided it could wait.

What she also decided could wait was the lingering moments of her last day with her father, how Jinx fit in, and the reason behind her desperation to talk to the woman when she'd felt sure she was going to go under. Jinx smiled once more and patted Mary's arm.

"I love you honey."

"Yeah," Mary nodded, swallowing once. "Me too."

Without another word, Jinx headed for the door, but just before she saw herself out, Mary found herself calling to her.

"Mom?"

She turned, very expectant. Watching her stand there, Mary was suddenly seeped with a kind of appreciation she had never in her life felt for Jinx. There, with her brunette waves and large jade eyes; her pale and milky skin, she looked just as she always did. From the pink top to the tattered jeans. But, she was a gem. She was her mother. Like it or not, she'd needed her.

Yet, she wasn't the best at expressing gratitude the way most people did.

"You didn't have to come back from Roswell just for me."

She hadn't a clue what made her say it. As demonstrated, she was new at such things. Jinx, however, simply cocked her head and smiled obligingly.

"Sweetheart," she stated in an ethereal voice. "I wouldn't be much of a mother if I just danced the day away."

She was trying to make light with her silly grin, and Mary was grateful. It less embarrassing for the daughter, so unaccustomed to this kind of conversation.

As it was, she knew she had to force the rest to come out – stationed in bed, mangled, misshapen, and miserable.

"I…I'm…glad you did…" Mary eventually managed. "Though," she tacked on foolishly.

Jinx bobbed her head, "I'll let you sleep, angel."

But, Mary found she wasn't done needing companionship, no matter how fresh the sensation was.

"Can you send Marshall back in?"

Jinx appeared hesitant; perhaps thinking Mary wasn't well enough for an onslaught of visitors, but her daughter hurried to clarify.

"I promise I'll crash soon," she swore. "I just need to talk to him."

Jinx merely nodded and went on her way. Within moments, Marshall returned and Mary wondered if he'd been watching her little meltdown from the door, but knew he wouldn't bring it up if he had.

"Hey," he greeted her and resumed his seat in an instant. "You need something?"

He looked tired. His face was drawn in lines and there was stubble on his chin. He also had the unmistakable air of someone who would be falling asleep on the floor if they hadn't just downed an entire cup of coffee. Even as much as Mary wanted him to stay with her, she couldn't in good-conscience let him continue stretching himself where he no longer reached. He eyed her suspiciously, like she might be keeping something from him. She knew her eyes were still bloodshot from crying.

"You all right?" he asked.

She wanted to tell him, 'yes' and 'go home' but what came out instead was, "It hurts."

"I know," he murmured sympathetically. "I'll see if they can give you something."

But that wasn't what she meant. She had never known an ache like this that wasn't physical, not since her father had walked out on her and never looked back. She didn't even know how to put it into words. She felt like she was missing something, like a piece of the puzzle was out of place.

"Marshall…" she whispered. "Did you see her?"

He didn't have to ask to know whom she was referring to. And Marshall knew whether Mary kept the baby or not that some maternal instinct – some carnal urge – was buried inside her, screaming in agony from not being able to see her little girl after she was born. Before he spoke, he stood and nudged himself onto the bed next to her so they sat side-by-side, backs to the wall. Mary winced just a little trying to move, but she seemed to revel in it just the same.

Marshall put his arm around her and not only didn't she shove him away, she let her head rest on his shoulder. He saw her eyes fluttering shut, about to succumb to sleep once more.

"I sure did," he answered her question evenly. "Small but mighty."

On the inside, Mary smiled, but she couldn't get the message to her cheeks to do the same.

"My mother…seems to think I should just…give it time before I…" she wasn't sure how to finish. "You know…"

"Your mother's very smart," Marshall replied and Mary actually chuckled. Her incision rumbled painfully and she sighed, paying for her little moment of happiness.

"You should go home," Mary instructed without looking at him, eyes still closed as she felt the aches carrying her into the subconscious.

She convinced herself it was decent of her to make him go when she so badly wanted him to stay. It was the right thing to do.

"I will," he nodded against her temple. "After you go back to sleep."

It was ridiculous and totally impractical, but for the first time in her life, Mary didn't want to fight. She let her instincts take over and whisk her off into the darkness.

"If you say so, doofus."

The utter of his not-so-charming nickname made him smile against his will – until he felt Mary reach up; green eyes sheltered beneath her lashes, and hit him lightly in the chest.

"What was that for?" he wanted to know.

"For kissing me earlier."

At another time, Marshall would've become extremely mortified. But the nature of Mary's playful smack convinced him she'd done it to save face. Meaning she might've actually enjoyed the gesture.

He resolved to stay quiet for a few moments, hoping she would slip off on her own, but when her breathing remained shallow and he knew she hadn't dozed off yet, he spoke softly. His voice carried as though on wind, wrapping Mary in a blanket with patches made of faith and conviction. The quilts were smooth and sweet and not for the first time, Mary wondered why she didn't fall into Marshall's arms more often.

"Hope this is okay…" he gambled cautiously. "After a kiss and all," teasing, hushed and quiet.

Even as her belly stung and her head twinged, Mary found herself marveling in what on earth could be better than this.

"Trust me Marshall…" she whispered. "It is more than okay."

XXX

**A/N: I admit I wonder if Mary is becoming too out-of-character, but she's been through the wringer. I hope that explains at least part of it. ;)**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I was so thrilled to hear that so many of you are sold on Mary's behavior. This chapter isn't much – a little bit of filler – but you need a segue sometimes.**

XXX

The next day found Mary in more of a bundle than she could've ever anticipated on top of everything else she'd already gone through. She woke up around eight feeling slow and lethargic, but was made to snap out of it very quickly. She was druggy and doped-up when the doctor and nurse informed her where they were headed abdomen-wise. All she knew was that they slipped something into her IV, and within minutes her stomach started balling and tightening, squashing her insides painfully against her internal muscles as well as her outer scar. She was so uncomfortable and preoccupied with the sensation that she couldn't even remember what they'd told her was happening.

Try as she might to breathe deeply in order to cope with the aches, there was really no stopping it when you considered her lack-of-ability to inhale and exhale correctly after all the smoke she'd taken in. Apparently, breathing wasn't her only problem. Thirty minutes in, she was so distressed the nurse had to fiddle with her IV again. It was around this time that Marshall returned from his short night at home.

When he walked in, all he could make out was Mary's bottom half on the bed; the rest of her was obscured by the nurse's movements. He could hear his partner perfectly well, however. He picked up gasps of air that were short and constricted – in other words, desperate. As he approached, brow furrowed in concern, the nurse gave him a bit of a clue as to what might be going on.

"I'm gonna decrease your drip just a little bit…" she explained softly. "The stress is making your heart-rate fluctuate; after the trauma you suffered, it really isn't surprising…"

At this, Marshall hung back, trying to ascertain for himself what they were doing with his best friend. Fortunately, the nurse appeared sympathetic to whatever plight was being experienced, and she also noticed her patient had a visitor.

"I'm going to let you try and manage on this dosage for a little while…" she instructed with some finality in her tone. "I know it's uncomfortable, just do your best to relax," the voice went a little softer again. Turning briefly, she sent Marshall a quick smile before wrapping everything up, "Someone's here to see you sugar, so I'll leave you be."

Marshall felt certain such a nickname would have Mary finally spewing her venom, but he heard nothing. And as the nurse stepped aside to allow him access to the bed, he saw that the situation did indeed appear taxing. Mary was sweaty and had an arm splayed across her forehead. Her breathing was so shallow she could hardly get any air out, but Marshall suspected this method was used so she wouldn't start coughing. But worst of all, he could see even as the dampness mingled among the sweat that she was crying.

"Hey…" he whispered gently, watching her eyes rove his direction as the door shut with the nurse's exit.

"Hi…" her voice was shaking as she attempted to appear somewhat normal, but the effort just made Marshall sad. Her appearance gave everything away.

He stepped up to the head of the bed and lightly ran his fingers over her hair, wondering if she would be all right with this. She didn't protest, and so he proceeded with his next question.

"What's wrong?" he murmured as earnestly as possible. His hand relaxed automatically against the top of her head.

Marshall could tell how strung-out Mary was by the fact that she had a very difficult time hiding how anxious she felt. Every word she spoke came out broken and muddled with tears. It made Marshall so unhappy to see her lose her fighting spirit, though he couldn't blame her in the least.

"I don't know…" this was proceeded by a wince, but Marshall was patient. "I don't know; they gave me something. I can't remember what it was; they gave me something…" she repeated throatily. "And I started cramping up really badly…"

"Okay…" Marshall cut-in quietly, inviting her to continue. His fingers began to play in her hair.

"She just fooled with it, but I have to stay on it for awhile. I don't remember how long…" not being able to recall upset her further and Marshall saw her shuddering now. "I just don't remember what it…"

The run-on was making her vitals ebb and flow once more as her heart-rate increased; Marshall could see it on the monitor. As quietly and calmly as possible, he started working to get her off the ledge.

"All right…" he whispered; she didn't seem to mind his tousling of her hair, so he kept on that as he spoke. "Slow down; it's gonna be fine," he promised. "Do you remember if whatever they gave you has a name? Did they tell you what it was for?" he asked the questions as impartially as possible; made it sound as though he were merely looking for information. This was not a test.

"I don't know…" she claimed automatically, but then contradicted herself. "Pit-something?" she shook her head side-to-side on the pillow, but Marshall's suspicions had just been confirmed.

Very carefully, he transferred his rumpling-hand to her shoulder and squeezed very lightly. Looking down at her tension-induced form, he graduated to rubbing slow circles in the same spot. He wasn't sure she even noticed.

"It sounds to me like they put you on Pitocin," Marshall whispered, hoping his hushed tone would soothe her. "It makes your uterus contract so it will start to shrink back to its original size. But, from what I gathered just coming in the door, your body's a little too weak to support its intensity," he estimated, seeing Mary gulp with comprehension. "That nurse that just left said she was decreasing your intake."

The Mary Marshall had-had yesterday morning would've had plenty to say about all these procedures. She'd have snapped at him for daring to mention her uterus, and she'd have snapped about the nurse too. And forget being mentioned as weak; he would be lucky to still be standing.

But, this Mary? This Mary was different. This Mary had collapsed in a burning building, had a child taken from her, and been sewn shut. Now she was trembling and cramping and being put through the wringer all over again.

"It scared me…" admitting it made a few well-timed tears sneak out, proving the Mary he had known was still within; she was trying to hold on.

Marshall was sweet, "Don't be scared," he said easily. "I know it hurts, but it's just something they have to do – a necessary evil, unfortunately."

Mary swallowed hard and nodded once more, but Marshall was on to more important matters.

"Come on…" he yanked a discarded chair over to the bedside and sat down within it. Moments later, his hand had strayed for the third time and found one of Mary's. She shifted with a grimace onto her side to face him, allowing him to hang onto her fingers while she coped. "I'll sit with you while you get minimized here," he even tried to smile.

Mary was clutching his hand fairly roughly, but that was her only response to his suggestion. Now that they were face-to-face, Marshall could see that she was still pretty hung-up on being startled to life so quickly. He knew her epidural and spinal were likely wearing off, which might explain the shaking. The rest was a basket of hormones she was having a hard time holding off.

After a few more thin breaths, Mary managed another sentence, "I hate it when I'm like this. I don't know why I'm falling apart; it's not like I haven't been through worse…"

But the wetness persisted, and she couldn't find the energy to stop between trying to keep up a stream of air and warding off the pain. Fortunately, Marshall was right there to ease her mind. He compressed her fingers once more before leaning even closer to her eyes.

"You can feel however you want," he insisted, quiet but resolute. "What happened to you is nothing to take lightly…"

_At all_, he couldn't help thinking. _Not when it required rescue breathing_.

"Deal with it whatever way you need," he concluded chivalrously. "All right?"

Miraculously, she nodded with a soft, "Okay…" of her own.

After that, quiet settled a little more comfortably. Marshall didn't want to exhaust Mary by making her carry on a conversation, especially not when she was contracting every few minutes. She merely kept her eyes closed and her hand around his, breathing slowly at each second while the monitor beeped sedately behind her. Marshall was perfectly fine with this arrangement. His presence seemed to calm her fears and lessen her discomfort tremendously.

But, he also knew how Mary hated silence. He didn't want to assume she'd reverted completely, hand-holding notwithstanding.

"I didn't see Jinx and Company when I came through the waiting room," he reported casually. "They head home to get some shut-eye?"

A pause, and then, "Yeah…" even four letters were hard to thrust out. Mary adjusted once more on the pillows, not moving from her now-sideways position and attempted to continue. "Jinx wanted to stay, but I told them to go…"

Marshall sensed she'd run her limit for a moment and needed to grab a little stamina. "Sounds like you," he offered. "Booting out the guests."

"I guess Squish was…" her free hand fluttered aimlessly for a moment before it found her lumpy midsection and came to rest there, mindful of the staples. "…I guess she was pissed 'cause I haven't seen her yet…"

Even though her eyes were still shut and she was speaking softly, it was still too much and Marshall saw it coming the minute it arrived. Mary groaned without bravado and tightened her grip on his hand, seemingly without thinking.

"Take it easy…" he advised kindly. "Breathe deep as best you can."

There was another low moan before she accepted this and kept mum once more. Marshall was beginning to think that he had perhaps come at an inopportune time. His partner was hurting and would be for some time yet. She needed to relax, and she'd already vacated one set of guests. There was maybe a hint coming his way to do the same.

"Mare, I should probably let you fight this one yourself…" he referred to the IV in her arm, even though she didn't have her eyes open and wouldn't see him. "You don't need me here making you talk. I should go…"

He was about to slip his hand free, when she surprised him. Her lids inched apart ever-so-slowly, and it was amazing how those green orbs could tell him so much more when they were probing his blue ones. It wasn't until that moment that Marshall realized how much he relied on Mary's eyes to convey to him what he wanted to know. She was much harder to read with them shut.

And yet, further decoding wasn't overly necessary.

"You probably have to get to the office?" she guessed, sounding melancholy at the thought.

"No. I-I don't actually…" he was truthful. "I mean, unless I get a call; Stan's picking up the slack at the moment. I just thought you…"

But Marshall allowed his words to drift on, becoming more aware with each passing second why Mary had worked so hard to face him – why she'd posed such a question in the first place. Was it possible she didn't _want_ him to leave?

"I understand, Marshall…" beneath her trickles of air; he actually saw her cheeks go slightly pink. "I'm sure…there's a ton of stuff…" the sentence was more long-winded than normal. "You need to be doing."

But, the man just smiled now that he'd uncovered her motives. He had no intention of telling Mary she was way off her game, but she was. Having her insides twisted apart was making her more vulnerable than she cared to be, and he could read her like an open book no matter what words came out her mouth. She wanted him here, and so here he would stay.

"Well, I _need_ to see you get better…" he emphasized with a tiny smirk. "Other than that, I think I'm covered."

"Yeah, well…" Mary turned grumpy momentarily with a little break from the pain. "Doesn't look like it's gonna happen anytime soon. I think you paid for a rotten show, doofus."

Marshall chuckled lightly at even a small bit of Mary's old self sneaking through. For a mere moment, he thought he saw a flicker of a grin on her face as well, but it got lost beneath her matted hair and rosy cheeks. She did keep her eyes on his though, and he enjoyed that.

"Your head doesn't look so purple now…" she observed quietly, eyeing him from her lopsided position, hand firmly ensconced. Her lids were narrowed as she scrutinized the bruise and healing scrape, even at just a day old. "I guess I didn't smack you too badly."

"Ah…" Marshall gave a nonchalant shrug. "You weren't exactly a hundred percent. I forgive you, inspector."

Now she grinned, no matter how tiredly. Marshall imagined her uninterrupted sleep was probably through for her hospital stay. They'd given her a nice stretch, but now they'd be waking her up every hour to check her incisions and run slews of tests on her lungs. She was in for a long couple of days, but he decided not to make her aware.

"I'm surprised you actually managed to get Jinx and Brandi out of here," he commented so she wouldn't have to answer now that things were settling down. He could tell she still hurt, but the lesser drip seemed to be kicking in. "Threaten them with your glock, did you?"

"No…" a brief cringe accompanied the word, but she kept on. "Jinx wanted to take a shower. Which makes two of us…"

Marshall didn't miss the sense of longing in her voice, and realized she was going to have to wait for this simple task as well. As he recalled, mothers after a cesarean delivery had to stretch at least twenty-four hours before getting into the water, and he ventured that came with conditions. He didn't have the impression Mary was able to stand upright at the moment, considering she'd suffered two upsets in such a short space of time.

Before Marshall could voice any of this delicately, she went on.

"I really hate this…" she sounded just as she had before. "I really-really hate it…" her voice quivered as it tapered away, her eyes becoming shiny, but Marshall didn't want her to cry again now that she was mellowing out.

"I know you do," he encouraged as only he knew how, keeping his grip on her hand and watching her stationed and stuck in bed. "I know you must feel like a prisoner here…"

"In the world's most sterile jail…"

"But, you'll come around," he promised, cutting through her. "Recovery is tough, no matter how you slice it. Nevertheless, I have no qualms about you getting out better than ever on the other side."

Mary tried to give him another smile, completely in awe of his ability to have so much faith in her. She was groggy and achy and wanted to go to sleep, yet having Marshall here made everything else seem so much duller. The pain and the fear were like a fog – a mist – in the darkest corners of her mind. Among them lingered that tiny little girl. She couldn't bear to ask about her right now. She just wanted to stay here with Marshall. She had enough to be going on with.

"Thanks Marshall…" she choked out, mind scarcely on what twinge was going to befall her next. "I don't think I've said it yet…" she blinked this time and squeezed his hand hard. "But, thanks."

And for Marshall, that perfectly willing hand inside of his was all the thanks he'd ever need.

XXX

**A/N: Thank-you again for all the reviews! Many hugs are being sent your way!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: My guess is a lot of you were busy watching the election last night (not that I expect an onslaught of reviews every night, but you get used to regulars!) Hey, I can hardly blame you; was a big night!**

XXX

Once the Pitocin drip began to wear, Mary slept on and off through most of the day, especially when Marshall left to allow her to rest. Every time she stirred she told herself to get up, to get moving, to find someone to tell her how to recover the fastest. But there was never anyone in her room when she felt this way, and the disdain for strangers had her pulling her hand away from the call button and simply drifting off into oblivion once more. Without Marshall to anchor her, there was no point in staying awake.

It wasn't until around noon the next afternoon – day three – that she felt well enough to sit up and drink some water and try some soup. She was aided by a nurse so young Mary wondered how long she'd been out of high school. When she inquired crabbily, the woman didn't take it well and hastened to leave as quickly as possible. Mary knew she'd been rude, but cared very little. Her incision was, as Marshall had predicted the first night, repulsively sore and no matter how she demanded, the meds they gave her were barely strong enough to dull the ache. They seemed to think anything too severe would react badly with the ones she'd already been given for the smoke inhalation, which put Mary in an even fouler mood.

Put-out and grouchy, she was stuck watching a horrible daytime show where the main character muttered and mumbled through his entire script; he had a spectacularly bristly mustache. The other characters seemed to think he had been born in New York, and Mary didn't see how because his German was so thick she could hardly understand what was coming out of his mouth. She found herself wondering why he shouted so much because it made him even more indistinguishable and he couldn't act to save his life. The fact that she even gave the drivel this much thought made her even more irritable.

Fortunately, she was saved by a knock on her door and one of the afternoon-shift nurses stuck her head in.

"Miss Shannon, are you up for a visitor?"

Ordinarily, she'd have said no but she was so bored she found herself agreeing almost in an instant.

"Sure."

She reached to turn the TV down, expecting to see Marshall stride in since it was close to his 'designated' lunch break – the lunch break neither one of them ever took on time because they were usually so busy with witnesses. But, she figured Marshall would try his best to coordinate things today so he could stop by and see her. Therefore, she was surprised when the door flew open with a crash and Brandi bounded in. She looked, if possible, both overjoyed and distraught all at the same time.

"Hi!" she sang brightly, hands fluttering in all directions, bouncing up and down on the spot about two feet from the bed.

"Squish, hey…" Mary hit the volume on the remote so she could hear her sister better.

Taking a good look at her, Mary noticed her eyes were significantly red-rimmed and her cheeks were flushed. A worry danced behind her big baby blues but her smile was pasted-on to a fault. Something had cheered her up and Mary guessed it was the fact that she had finally been allowed to see her.

"Mary, I'm so happy to see you!" she exclaimed, proving the eldest sister's theory. Without bravado, she practically flung herself in toward the bed and threw her arms around Mary's neck. She emitted a most peculiar sound – something between a squeak and a hiccup and Mary felt her squeeze hard around her chest.

"Squish-Squish; they just got me back in one piece," Mary wiggled away, trying not to upset her incision. "I'd like to stay that way, if it's not too much trouble."

Brandi giggled as she stepped back and although she attempted to hide it, Mary saw a few tears sparkling on her cheeks which she hurried to wipe away. Deciding to make light of it, Mary groped and hit Brandi in the stomach.

"Don't be a drama queen," she grinned. "As if you don't get enough attention as it is."

Seeing Mary smirk made Brandi laugh again and she plopped down in the chair at her bedside, still looking all hopped-up on what Mary immediately recognized as adrenaline induced by lack-of-sleep. Such a thing went against the laws of physics and she'd never understood it.

Brandi jerked her thumb at the television and cocked an eyebrow at Mary.

"_What_ are you watching?" she asked with contempt, scorn sounding so much like Mary it was uncanny.

Mary glanced at the show, even more horrendous on mute if that was possible. The mustached-mumbler was jabbing his finger at someone now, spit flying from his mouth as he dictated.

"Shit," she satisfied Brandi's question. "No wonder I don't bother with this stupid little box you mortals call a television."

Brandi giggled for the third time and pressed her fingers to her mouth, and Mary knew she was trying to hide more tears. The protective older-sister that lived inside of Mary reared its head and even though she was the one in the hospital, the one with the sick baby and the affixed gut, she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and patting Brandi's knee.

"It's okay, Squish," she said softly. "I'm okay – I promise."

Mary didn't know what it was about her that enabled her to be the adult in almost every relationship, no matter the circumstances, and the child in only one; give or take. Did that say something about her? She was still scared out of her wits and would admit it to no one but Marshall. How was she able to build these walls so successfully when it came to other people and put on a brave face?

Brandi allowed herself to shudder once at Mary's proclamation and the smile dropped off her face, but she kept it together. She wiped her own tears with her index finger and put her hand on top of Mary's, still on her knee.

"I thought you were going to die," she whispered theatrically.

"Well, I didn't die," Mary shrugged, trying to be as tactful as she could. "I didn't die. I'm sitting right here."

"And I was just awful to Marshall…" Brandi found herself admitting. "I tried to make him tell me what you guys were doing at the elementary."

Mary hadn't known this, and it didn't please her, but she knew Marshall hadn't revealed the information and she supposed she got it in some ways.

"I wouldn't worry about Marshall," Mary said. "I bet he understood."

Brandi nodded, but didn't elaborate. Mary could feel her caressing her hand now and she decided to let her, knowing she'd probably waited an eternity for this moment. She didn't feel like ruining it for her with a bunch of regulations along the lines of, 'look, don't touch.'

"Where's Peter?" she asked to get the conversation going again. "He head to work?"

"For a little while," Brandi reported. "We were here most of the day yesterday, but Marshall said you didn't feel good enough to see anyone. Once we knew you were okay; he decided to open up this morning so he could come back tonight."

"He doesn't have to…" Mary shook her head, but Brandi interrupted.

"Mary, he wants to," she declared earnestly. "You're going to be family."

Until Brandi had brought it up, Mary hadn't exactly thought of her and Peter as family but now that she mentioned it, she supposed that was true. A brother-in-law. Mary had never had a brother – Scott did _not_ count – and with the exception of Marshall, the men in her life were all business and no pleasure. She knew she made a crummy friend, between her obsessive devotion to work and general dislike of the human race. But she realized she'd come to think of Peter as a sort of acquaintance in some way and that, oddly, felt nice.

"Speaking of…" Brandi was still talking, interrupting these thoughts of Mary's. "You know the wedding's in three weeks, right?"

"Uh-huh," Mary murmured absently, still thinking.

"Well, Peter and I decided we're going to postpone it."

It took Mary a second to realize what she'd just said, and when it came through, all she felt was disbelief. She turned to Brandi who was looking a little disappointed, but also determined.

"Wait, what?" Mary shook her head to be sure she'd heard correctly.

"Peter and I talked about it and we're going to postpone until you're back on your feet."

"Brandi, no," Mary said at once. "That's ridiculous. Do you have any idea how much money he and his parents spent on that thing? To put it off would jack-it-up to about twice the price, just to get everything switched around…"

"Mary, I don't care," Brandi said firmly. "Peter and I have made-up our minds. You're just going to have to live with the fact that we care about you more than the wedding."

Mary found this view rather irksome, mostly because she couldn't argue with it. Three weeks really wasn't much time when she considered the baby – still a vague and formless being in her subconscious right now. The timeline on her own recovery was pretty indistinct also. She'd been told that if her vitals stayed decent, she'd be able to go home early the next week, but even then she'd have trouble 'getting around.' Besides the C-section rehabilitation, she was still getting pumped full of drugs for her internal problems sustained in the fire. Nobody had sounded optimistic on getting her out earlier than four days, which was likely generous.

Contemplation of the little one made Mary think of what she'd asked of Marshall, concerning Brandi and Mark. She hadn't inquired the day before, too worn-out from the surgery and contractions. She supposed now was as good a time as any.

"Brandi…" she began, swallowing and trying to ignore the pain in her abdomen, which seemed to heighten with the prospect of asking such an important question.

"Hmm?" Brandi said inattentively, examining her chipped nail polish.

"Did Marshall happen to…" another swallow. "…Ask you to…do a favor for me?" she got the sentence out about three times slower than her usual rate.

Brandi looked up, and there was benevolence, empathy in her young and sweetly innocent face. Mary had always viewed Brandi's perpetual simplicity as a bad thing – babyish and juvenile, but now she just seemed green and untried. Simply loveable baby sister she had only jilted memories of in her childhood, amongst all the garbage radiating about her father.

"You mean if I would call Mark?" she asked softly.

Hearing it aloud made Mary's heart murmur, but she calmed and realized this was one less thing she'd have to do.

"Yeah, that," she said in a low voice. "Did you?"

She tipped her chin and peered at Brandi, her gaze shifting back-and-forth from the bedspread to her blue eyes, picking at the cotton on her gown. She'd have to ask someone to bring her a pair of actual pajamas.

"Yeah, I did," Brandi answered. "Right after they told us you were out of delivery."

Mary wanted to stay quiet, to still her thudding heart, but she knew at this point it was safest just to keep going.

"…And?"

Brandi sighed and shifted in her chair; Mary was unable to read the clues about what this reaction might mean. Was Mark angry? Upset? Aloof? Completely unconcerned? Mary knew any of these choices were a possibility and was hard-pressed to determine which she preferred.

"Mary…he just seemed sad," Brandi offered with a slumping shrug of her shoulders. "I know you guys are…way over, but he does care about you. When he heard what had happened, he got so worried. He was just glad you were okay."

"Was that before or after you told him about the kid?" Mary muttered under her breath and Brandi sighed again, this time a little more exasperatedly.

"He really didn't say much about that. Honestly, I think he was just so relieved you were all right…" she shook her head, but why or what for Mary wasn't sure. "It was a lot to take in all at once."

In the deepest recesses of her mind, she knew her little sister was right. She knew it wasn't fair to Mark to keep him out-of-the-loop, but the man brought out all the parts of herself that she'd been when she was younger, the parts she longed to forget. Irresponsibility, recklessness, and a carefree, laughingly optimistic attitude. You had to possess such things when you got hitched at seventeen and, however kind or sweet Mark was, he just reminded her of the lesser person she used to be. And still was, it seemed.

"I don't know…whether this will upset you or not, but he's flying out here tomorrow. He had to wrap up some of his jobs, but he is coming," Brandi resumed her report.

Mary had suspected as much, but it still made her nervous. She didn't even know what she was supposed to tell her ex. There was no plan in place; she'd been a total coward as far as the adoption was concerned and hadn't even called the agency to tell them she'd given birth already. Her shaky knowledge of the baby's condition and the fact that she hadn't seen her yet was not giving her a lot of ability to make decisions. She made a note to go over it with Marshall later, when she put her foot down and had him take her to the NICU.

"Mary, just give him a chance," Brandi whispered, apparently thinking her sister wasn't going to speak. "I think he'll just go along with whatever you want, but please be nice to him."

Leave it to Brandi to backhandedly insult Mary's manners. Thoughts of the shame that had plagued her in the burning building took over and she knew she deserved it.

"I'll try, Squish. Okay?"

Before Brandi could answer, there was a second knock on the door and both sisters turned to see Marshall waving from outside, carrying what looked like a bouquet of flowers, his bag on his shoulder.

"I'll go so you guys can talk," Brandi offered, standing with her hand placed on Mary's arm.

"Marshall won't mind if you stay," Mary assumed, but she was careful to place that implicit gesture onto Marshall and not herself. She enjoyed Brandi's company, and it was nice to see her after her supposedly-harrowing experience, but the boundless energy was hard to keep up with and she missed Marshall's quiet and steady demeanor.

Brandi leaned over to kiss her – it seemed it was becoming a custom – and beamed girlishly at the look of displeasure on her sister's face.

"Love you, Mare."

"Back at you Squish," she returned as Brandi headed for the door. "Say hi to Peter."

Brandi called her agreement and opened the door so Marshall could get inside; they exchanged hellos at the door, Brandi bending to smell the vase of buds in the crook of Marshall's arm. She smiled and tapped his arm affectionately before skipping on her way.

"Good morning to you," Marshall greeted her evenly as the door eased itself shut. "Or, no…" he glanced at his watch, peering awkwardly over the flowers. "I guess its afternoon. My mistake."

Mary fed him a small smile and he sat at the end of the bed, resting the bowl in his lap so it rocked slightly on his legs when Mary shifted. He put a hand on the side to steady it and continued.

"How you doing?"

It was so typical of him to ask, but he definitely seemed boosted by the fact that she was sitting up and speaking, though she knew she must still be pale. She didn't want to worry him and especially didn't want to be coddled – at least not right now – so she decided to fib just a little.

"Good," she nodded. "Better. Ate some soup."

"Really?" he raised his eyebrows, giving her his best face, dubious with skepticism, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being right.

"You calling me a liar? What? I said I'm good," she hoped her tone would ward him off and also convince him she was ready to go down and visit the NICU. The idea made her very apprehensive, as she didn't know what she expected to find but something deep inside told her she needed to do it. This frustrating picture in her mind of a miniscule baby, flailing at the open air, was not cutting it. It was essential she see for herself.

Marshall looked a little hurt – only she would be able to spot it because she knew him so well, but it remained just the same. His eyes dropped to the flowers in his lap, a pretty light purple color with bursts of white in the petals. Mary, though she wasn't much for a lot of sweet-smelling plants, felt a little badly for snapping and tried to backtrack.

"Are those for me?"

"Uh, yeah," his voice held no sign of fostering a grudge. "But I feel it's important to note that they are not congratulatory flowers."

"So…what are they?" Mary asked.

"Well…" Marshall shrugged, looking a little red in the cheeks as he tried to downplay the gift. "I saw them and I thought they were nice. Remember I…brought you flowers when you got to come home after you were shot? You seemed to like them."

Now that she let her mind take her back Mary recalled, however dimly, that she had liked those flowers. They'd been yellow and she'd actually tried to keep them alive more than a day just to please Marshall, but she'd fallen short and they were dried and brown the following evening.

"Right," Mary nodded in response to Marshall's reminiscence. "So…they're not congratulatory. Makes sense. What are they for?"

"Merely…" Marshall shrugged and gave the bouquet the once-over. "Do get well soon so I don't have to deal with your sure-to-be-heightened cantankerous attitude any longer than I have to."

"You put that in the card? Phone Hallmark; they might have to set you up with something," Mary grumbled and Marshall chuckled. He stood and placed them on the cart at the end of the bed before retreating to sit in the chair, up near her head.

Mary felt a little awkward that he'd brought a gift; she'd always told him such things were unnecessary, even at times like Christmas and her birthday. He usually disobeyed and gathered something, but it was often tiny, memento-like with some sort of story behind it. She didn't know what she was supposed to say to his little gesture.

"What kind are they?" she blurted out stupidly, giving him the opportunity to spew with huge bouts of intellect.

"Lilacs," he answered at once. "Scientifically known as syringa; but I found that a little off-putting. They are deciduous shrubs, much like the stand of cottonwoods I grew up in. Most commonly purple, but few people know there are actually species in white, pale yellow, pink and even burgundy."

He didn't disappoint, that was for sure. In more areas than one.

"They're pretty," Mary nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "It was nice of you to bring them."

Marshall was clearly thrown by the gratitude, but Mary's feelings of guilt were still plaguing her from the trappings in the fire. Plus, there was the fact that she wanted to get on his good side so he'd take her to see the baby; the whole thing wasn't so unprecedented.

Marshall let that one sit for a moment, Mary fooling absently with the loose strings on her blanket and avoiding his eyes. Every now and then she'd shift her gaze to the buds sitting at the foot of the bed, and then back to the quilt.

"Something on your mind?" Marshall finally prodded.

She considered, wondering if it was better to beat-around-the-bush or just have done with it. She doubted whether Marshall would object to the little field-trip if she was able to stand, but she knew she wasn't up to it. They'd have to get a wheelchair and clearance from the doctor and she knew that was going to be a problem. Add on Marshall's desperate desire to keep her safe and not push her limits, she found the request nearly impossible to achieve.

But, Mary wasn't known for not attempting to take a stab at whatever she really wanted.

"I want to go to the NICU," she said forcefully. "Will you take me?"

Marshall was prepared and equally-equipped to surprise her. He'd known there was a reason for her laid-back demeanor.

"Well, saddle up…" he reached into his bag sitting at his feet, and saw the look of astonishment flit across her face.

He pulled her folded pajamas from home out of the satchel – navy drawstring pants and a T-shirt.

"I'll grab Brandi and she'll get you dressed."

"What…?" Mary murmured softly.

"Let's go."

XXX

**A/N: The daytime drama that was referenced, in case you're wondering, is 'The Young and the Restless' and the character is Victor Newman, played by Eric Braeden. I was pretty invested in Y&R many years ago before it went completely under (not that it was ever gold,) but I always hated Victor Newman. I've always wondered what Mary would have to say about him LOL!**

**Thank-you for reviewing – hopefully this was a lighter chapter! And, an enormous congratulations to Mary McCormack's big sister, Bridget, who earned her seat on the Michigan State Supreme Court!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Many-many hugs for every reviewer and reader out there!**

XXX

It was a slow road to the nursery. Doctor Schiff, a well-seasoned OBGYN in his mid-forties, had taken over Mary since the release of Doctor Wolk, and her own OBGYN, Doctor Reese, was still on the road. He was extremely reluctant to allow Mary to leave the safety of her hospital room, mostly due to the fact that he would have to remove her catheter. He was also what Mary considered overly-concerned about her strength due to the smoke she'd inhaled. She was even less pleased about the catheter, but was so determined to go she sucked it up. Once they assessed her vitals and made it perfectly clear Mary's little jaunt to the NICU was to be exceptionally brief, they allowed Brandi back in to get her changed into her own pajamas.

That was a mess. Marshall tried his best not to laugh as he listened to the pair of them in the bathroom – Mary cursing and Brandi squealing, telling her to shut up and hold still. Both were rather rumpled when they emerged; Mary was looking especially worse-for-wear, her brow sweaty just from the effort of getting her clothes on.

"All ready to go, inspector?" Marshall inquired from his spot on the bed where he was playing with his cell phone.

She glared, first at Marshall and then at Brandi. Her top was askew and she was forced to wear her pants low to avoid rubbing on her incision. If Marshall looked close enough, he could see the staples peeking out between her shirt and waistband.

"I'll help you into the wheelchair," Brandi offered, but apparently this was the last straw for Mary. She jerked away from her sister, who was gripping her arm and attempting to guide her.

"Enough! "she barked. "I can take care of myself."

Brandi rolled her eyes – Marshall was pleased to see she wasn't offended – and put up her hands in defeat, looking remarkably like Jinx.

"She's your problem now, Marshall," Brandi declared with a significant look his direction, before she sashayed over to the door and saw herself out.

Marshall smacked his phone shut and tried not to grin as Mary continued to scowl at him from her post across the room. She hadn't moved and was eyeing the wheelchair waiting next to the bed with much disdain. Truthfully, she was a little scared to put one foot forward. She'd been wheeled to the bathroom and spent a lot of time leaning on Brandi once they were inside. She'd felt like her entrails were going to fall all over the floor every time she tried to go mobile. What on earth had they done to her insides? Rearranged them?

Marshall waited to see if she was going to ask for help, when she attempted a most-awkward looking movement toward the wheelchair – something along the lines of an electric slide as though to keep her stomach in-tact. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work and she slipped.

"Whoa…" she glided into a rather ungraceful straddle and Marshall quickly stood and put two hands on either side of her waist to guide her upright.

"You lunatic," he said playfully as he felt her give in and lean her body weight into him. He wrapped one arm around her back and stepped with her to the chair. "You want to get yourself killed?"

"Jesus, you are dramatic," she puffed contemptuously. She groaned as he just let her fall into the wheels, her belly throbbing in protest. Marshall took the reins and headed for the door.

"If no one's watching I might have to confiscate a set of spokes myself and race you down the hall…" he quipped, rather poorly Mary thought.

She knew why he was attempting to be funny. He was worried about how she was going to react seeing the baby. The thought was only just dawning on her. She'd been so busy powering all of her energy into getting the green-light to visit that she'd been able to block out the fact that…she was going to visit. She tried to get a picture in her mind of how this kid might look – small, sure. But relatively healthy, right? She kept trying to aim lower, to see her as lesser in hopes that when she finally got her first glimpse, she might be pleasantly surprised.

And then there was the other fear. Was she going to have some unwavering conviction once she set eyes on 'her' daughter that she was destined to take her home? Or would she run away, claim her job and her curmudgeonly attitude took precedence over her flesh and blood and ship her off to strangers? It was true she had never planned on kids, but now she was in the thick of it and there was no turning back for anything. She couldn't erase the facts.

As Marshall approached the door to the NICU, he noticed his partner had gone quiet and he figured it was probably best to let her stay that way. He knew she was nervous whether she'd admit it or not, and he'd held off 'warning' her what to expect upon seeing the little being. He anticipated it would just upset her.

"Here we are…" he merely announced as they arrived.

Mary nodded sedately but didn't say anything, and he took this as a silent sign he could venture inside. Without further ado, he pushed open the door.

Marshall had been already, so he knew the drill. He'd spent several hours after the little girl's birth just watching her breathe, watching her struggle to lift her tiny arm, marveled in the length of her eyelashes and the softness of her skin, fingered countless times as she lay still and sleeping. Marshall was able to pretend they were in their own world, but he doubted Mary would have the same experience. The NICU was crowded with other infants, squawking monitors, the chunking of the ventilators.

Mary found herself shrinking under all the activity as Marshall navigated her seat among the rows, stopping in the very last column where a tiny little girl lay snoozing, wearing nothing but a silly pink hat and a diaper.

That couldn't be her. Could it?

Mary swallowed as she came closer; suddenly feeling as though she had something that was catching. And as she came into view, she saw the name plate taped to the side of her bed – Baby Girl Shannon. It _was_ her.

"So…" Marshall sounded ridiculously carefree. "Here she is."

And he backed away slightly, knowing his partner would want to be in control.

Mary was stunned. All she could see was how little she was. Absolutely nowhere near the size of the babies in the nursery they'd passed on the way down. And her face – it was red and scrunched; her eyes looked as though they'd been pasted shut. And all the tubes – wires on every inch of her body, and monitors that were so clearly keeping her alive. She didn't move; only her chest rose and fell with every breath, helped along by the ventilator she'd been warned about.

Marshall let her be for a moment, but the only thing his best friend did was stare. She was as still as her daughter, hands frozen on her knees, eyes wide and mystified.

Carefully, not wanting to startle her, he reached out and touched her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Granted, he'd been a little upset by the wires at first too, but he looked at it as temporary – a precaution. It didn't take away from her tiny, perfect ears, the way her fingers flexed when she was more awake, her delicate little belly. To Marshall, she was a fighter and flawless exactly the way she was.

Mary didn't know what to say to his question. Why didn't she look like those other babies? She was weak and straining to stay in one piece, and all because her supposed-mother had gotten herself tied-up in a burning building without giving her a second thought.

Marshall must've been waiting for her to respond, because he prompted again.

"Mary?" he said, and he took up a chair sitting nearby and settled himself next to her. Peering low to catch her eye, he repeated, "You all right?"

Mary swallowed, only just now registering his presence.

"What's…?" she murmured softly, unable to take her eyes off the little girl. "I don't…why…?"

She shook her head, not equipped to phrase a coherent thought. Marshall was patient, resolute by her side.

"Does she even…open her eyes?"

She didn't know what made her ask that. Just that all the pictures she'd seen of rug rats that toddled in parks and adorned the front of those adoption brochures had dazzling, sparkly orbs, full of life and vigor.

"Not really," Marshall said simply. "Not yet, anyway. She does blink on occasion, but I haven't really seen her eyes. But she's new and it's bright…lot of noise…" he waved his hand indistinctly behind him as though this would explain it.

She couldn't open her eyes? Mary was distressed. How sick was she?

All she could discern were the wires. It was horrifying to Mary and she wasn't even sure why.

"Why didn't you…?" Mary started as the baby had a hitch in her breathing, but she quickly calmed and settled into a rhythm once more. She picked up the thread, "Why didn't you tell me about all this…?"

It was her turn to gesture in the vicinity and she finally turned to Marshall, wanting his version of events. He was so calm and it made Mary feel even more like a basket case. And although she hadn't finished, Marshall sensed what her question had been.

"Well…" he shrugged. "I didn't want to upset you unnecessarily…"

"Unnecessarily?" Mary repeated in a louder voice, etched with disbelief. Marshall put a finger to his lips to quiet her and she did as told.

"To me…" he whispered, nudging his chair closer to her. "It's just a minor setback. It doesn't have anything to do with who she is, who she'll be – the fact that she's breathing and her heart is beating. It's huge."

Marshall spoke about her like she had a future, although Mary didn't miss the fact that he refused to specify where. It was so typical of him to radiate optimism, to only see the good.

"Think about it…" evidently he wasn't finished. "She's eight weeks shy of those plump kids in the nursery and she's holding her own. It's incredible."

Mary knew he really thought so, and somewhere in the deepest corners of her mind she found it endearing. But, she couldn't do it. All the sights and sounds were starting to wreak havoc on her mind, brimming and overflowing with emotion she couldn't hold in for much longer. The guilt she felt was going to take over; it was going to eat her alive and she had to get out before she snapped.

"I want to leave," she said sharply. "Now."

After all that work getting here, and she couldn't bear to stay.

Fortunately, Marshall didn't need to be asked twice. Without a word, he stood up, put his chair back where it had come from and steered Mary to the door. He noticed she was breathing hard, like tears might not be far away, but part of him hoped she wouldn't cry because it would only trouble her further. She was still lamenting her meltdown with Jinx. Although he'd hardly expected his partner to gush and melt into one big puddle, he had to admit he'd hoped for a slightly more favorable reaction.

Mary stayed silent all the way back down the hall as they returned to her room, but Marshall could see her losing it and picked up the pace. They weren't in the door two seconds before it all came spewing out.

"Mark is coming!" she exploded, hands flying out in front of her face.

Marshall was fairly confused by this, as it had nothing to do with what she'd just went through, but he decided to roll with it.

"Yeah, I know," he said, offering her his arm so she could stand up. She moaned and cursed again with the rise, but he spoke over her, "Brandi mentioned. She said you were fine with it."

"I don't even know what the hell he wants!" she exclaimed, making herself rigid so he couldn't make her get in bed right away. Marshall was concerned – her knees were wobbly and her forehead had gone damp again with all the movement and stress.

Before he could answer, she was at it again.

"And I am the world's worst sneak because I haven't even called the adoption agency to tell them I popped this kid eight weeks early!" she waved a wild hand at the doorway, indicating the room they had just left. "I'm supposed to meet with the Templetons in two days! What am I going to do when Mark shows up?"

Marshall was about to tell her to calm down, but it was clear there was no stopping her now that she'd gotten started. It was all coming out; her face was drawn in despair and regret as she fought not to cry. She had unwillingly dropped a hand to the bed, obviously recognizing that her knees were about to give out.

"What am I gonna do if he wants to raise that baby?" she hollered, voice echoing in the small room. "What am I gonna do when Mountain States finds out she is so sick she can't even move? What if the Templetons don't want her?"

It sounded to Marshall like she was leaning more toward adoption now, but her next rant convinced him that wasn't it.

"How am I gonna take care of her?!" she was at full-volume now, arms waving in all directions. "I have a life, I have a job, I have a gun for Christ's sake! How do I know some…some…" she searched for the right word, eyes flashing aimlessly. "Some…munchkin takes precedence over shooting down a pack of madcap's – how do I know I can give that up just to sing some corny-ass lullaby?!"

She paused to take a breath and then, "It's my father all over again! Can I really put her through what he did to me?!"

So she still didn't have a clue where to turn, but Marshall was done letting her string herself out. She was about to fall over from the effort of standing.

"Okay…" Marshall murmured softly and extended both his hands, gentle but strong and she let her knees collapse in his grasp.

She continued to gasp breathlessly as he helped her back into bed, guiding her legs into the covers, being mindful of her wound. She sighed tiredly once she relaxed against the pillows, but Marshall was determined to speak first.

"Forget Mark and forget the agency…" he leaned in, elbows on his knees. "And talk to me. You don't care enough about what people think to lose sleep over them anyway."

Mary was clearly annoyed he had cracked the code, but he let his hand rest on her leg beneath the covers.

"What's the matter?" he probed softly.

She considered only briefly, and was prompt in her response.

"I don't know where the hell you want me to start."

"Well…" Marshall was anxious to get to the point. "Let's start with the baby. What happened? You begged to go down there; what got you so upset?"

He expected her to take longer with her answer on this, to make something up and fabricate some excuse that wouldn't show her fears and insecurities but she must've been more tired than he'd thought, because she was quick.

"I did this to her."

"Mare, did what?" he sighed as he heard the place of fault.

"She's…weak because of me. Because of that fire. Because I got her stuck inside," she said it as though Marshall should have known this already, like he was being dim.

Really, Marshall was just disheartened by her view of the baby as 'weak' but he thought he understood. Knowing Mary as he did, she only took the stance because of her own involvement in how the little one had turned out. It had nothing to do with the child not doing her best to stick around.

"Listen to me…" Marshall whispered, rubbing her leg gently, the blanket fleecy on his fingers. "Carefully," he added and saw her eyes bored into his which spurred him to continue. "This is not your fault."

"Marshall…"

"Stop it," he interrupted sharply, keeping his eyes on hers. He reminded himself forcefully of Stan not long ago. "Did you do this on purpose?" he inquired.

She flashed him a look of bewilderment and said, "What?"

"Were you careless and stupid? Did you intentionally place yourself in a dangerous situation where you knew you were going to get hurt and risk your life and hers?"

Mary had about a million answers to that question, most of them of the smart-ass variety. Her job put her in the line of fire on a daily basis so basically; just living her life made her a reckless 'mother.' But she had taken the afternoon shift knowing it was quiet and routine and not expected to escalate the way it had. And she knew Marshall would never place her somewhere she'd get hurt – not in her former condition.

Marshall didn't wait for her to respond.

"Mary, you had no idea that place was gonna go up in flames. And there's no changing it. We're dealing with the here and now," he stated firmly. "And the here and now is that little girl is weathering the storm brilliantly. There's every reason to believe she'll live a perfectly normal life. Wherever that may be."

It was as though he'd given a speech. He sat back in his chair, satisfied with himself and crossed his arms over his chest.

Mary was quiet for a minute, processing his words and trying to get her heart rate back to normal. But all she saw in her head were the snaking lines, the gadgets on the infant's body – the sedate up-down, up-down of her daughter's chest.

_Her what?_

In an effort to express some of this to Marshall, she said softly, "I can't leave her when she's…not well."

Marshall shrugged and shook his head casually, "You don't have to. Nothing is definite. As of now, she belongs to nobody but you."

Strangely, Mary liked the sound of that.

"Please don't worry about the agency," Marshall added as an afterthought. "I can call and explain what happened; tell them you need some more time. You fine with that?"

_More than fine_, Mary thought.

As their words tapered into nothingness, Mary suddenly felt as though she'd run head-first into a wall. Her incision burned and her head felt swimmy and achy. The pain in both areas made her dizzy and she swallowed and shut her eyes.

"Man…" she covered her lids to block out some of the light.

Marshall let his hand float off her leg and closed his fingers around hers that was shielding her face. She peered at him briefly and he saw she'd gone glassy and faded again.

"I think you overdid it for now," he decided, pushing her hair aside to get a better read. "Lie down before your vitals start to go haywire. I know you don't want a whole pack of people in here.

That she didn't. Mary eased herself into the blankets and sheets, letting them engulf her and Marshall handed her a pillow to press around her incision so she'd be more comfortable. He was always thinking about her.

As she closed her eyes and felt Marshall's fingers playing in her hair, thoughts of the little girl beyond filled her mind and they became more idealized now – the bend in her elbow, her minuscule fingernails. Maybe Marshall was right. Maybe some things didn't matter.

"I still feel bad…" she murmured, and felt Marshall halt his digging in her hair.

"Let me ask you something," she heard his voice, fixed and wrung with balance as always. "What if you had saved your own neck? What if you'd gone out the front door and Cassidy were taken or killed and she was the one in this bed, and you were the one still trying to figure out how to walk with thirty extra pounds?"

He'd tried to be light about it, but Mary knew what he was doing. And she knew her answer too.

"It isn't that simple."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't. But you did your job and then some. Shows devotion and integrity and loyalty."

She didn't deserve this from him. But as she felt herself begin to drift away, Marshall's stroking a distant thought now, she found herself slipping off with his last words.

"Those aren't such bad qualities to have in a mother."

XXX

**A/N: I hope I didn't disappoint with this chapter – Mary being all bent-out of shape and everything. I just don't see her as one to throw off the skepticism right away. She needs to put the pieces back together first.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: You all are just making my reviews climb! Thank-you, thank-you, and thank-you again! This one is a bit long, but hopefully not boring…**

XXX

_Harsh and cruelly bright sunshine gleamed in the early morning, twinkling on the coffee cups in the kitchen. There was a little girl wandering about Mary's house, still and silent in the wee hours before the day began. She stopped in the living room and peered beneath the coffee table, moved a throw pillow on the couch and looked behind it._

_Her hair was golden like honey and she was wearing cut-off shorts and a tattered old baseball jersey, red with 'Plainfield Hornets' printed on the front. She couldn't be more than six or seven years old and there was something distinctly familiar about her. Green eyes and a strong jaw._

_The child was about to continue her search when the doorbell sounded. She looked up in surprise, glanced around as though another individual might appear to answer, but it was clear the home was empty. Convinced of this, she half-walked, half-ran to tend to the call, standing on tiptoe to reach the knob._

_The sun, intense and brilliant, greeted her at the door, obscuring the face of the person on the porch. The little girl glanced this way and that, trying to see who it was and when the ball slipped beneath a cloud for a fraction of a second, she saw him._

"_Daddy!" she finally spoke, voice thick with elation and also disbelief._

_The way he smiled and beamed down at her – brighter than the biggest star. His eyes sparkled with delight and a shocking realization came to mind. _

_The little girl was Mary. But with deliberate mistakes. Her orbs were too dark, her hair too blonde. However, it became clear that even though some things didn't seem to fit or match, there was no mistaking her. Mary Shannon, seven years old._

"_Daddy!" she shrieked again. "I told mom you'd be back! She told me you'd left forever, but she was wrong! She's ALWAYS wrong!"_

_Something unknown fluttered in her gut at the defaming of Jinx, but what did that matter now? He was here, he'd proven he hadn't left her behind; he'd come back and if he wanted to go again, she would go with him. He was big, strong, kind and warm, and he could never betray her. At least not in the ways that Jinx did, with her sloshing drinks and her bawling, drunken rages when she got off on yet another tangent about her deadbeat dad._

_The man wouldn't talk. He merely scooped up his little girl into his arms, held her close; let her nuzzle her head in his chest. It was bliss and joy – pure happiness abound. His hands were strong on her back; an anchor to safety. She never wanted to let him go._

_But as soon as the thought formed, he pulled away and stared into her eyes._

"_I must leave quickly."_

_Her face fell. Where had she heard that before? It sounded familiar. Haunting._

"_But…I'll go with you!" she refused to give up her stance. "We'll go together! You have me, and mom has Brandi!"_

_The same indistinct sensation hit her stomach at the thought of leaving them behind, but she buried it. All she knew was she'd heard the word 'leave' and she had to stop that at all costs._

"_I'm just very-very foolish," he said, which was no answer at all. What did that tell her?_

_And it suddenly became confusing. Why was she so little and in her grown-up house? What was he doing here? What did he want if not to stay?_

"_Daddy, you did a lot of bad things but that doesn't make you a bad man," the tiny Mary spouted scholarly. But it came out stilted and fuzzy, like lines rehearsed in a play, but she was reading someone else's script._

_He let her slide to the floor and she threw out her hand to grab his jacket, but missed and hit thin air._

"_Daddy, I'll be really good; I promise," she nodded vigorously in hopes of convincing him. "I'll pour mom's drinks and I'll pick up your stubs and I'll even change Brandi. I really will. You won't have to do anything."_

_She would have, too. She really would._

_But it wasn't working. He was backing away, off the porch and into the yard. Mary felt her breath quicken and she tried to chase after him, stop him and make him see but she couldn't move her feet._

"_Stay sweet and kind and warm," were his parting words._

_She was able to run now, but the minute her foot hit the cement the sun hung so high in the sky it hid him from view. She knew he was back there somewhere; she just had to reach him and pull him to her side. If only she could see him._

_She darted into the yard, calling his name but no matter how she looked she couldn't seem to touch him. _

"_Dad!" she hollered desperately. "Dad!"_

_The sun slid aside and he appeared once more. She was so relieved she ran faster and tripped, but before she could look up the great ball in the sky swirled and spun in smoke, disappeared in wisps that circled amongst her clouded head. She tried to sit up, to find him, to call to him for help – he wouldn't just leave her here to die._

_The smoke overcame her; she wasn't in the yard anymore. It was black and dark as night and she couldn't breathe. She shut her eyes, trying to regain him in her memory, struggling to right herself and get out but she couldn't do it._

_What she thought was the front lawn started to come back into focus, only to realize it wasn't the yard at all. It was the basement, and she couldn't stand because her wrists were bound. And Chuck was lying dead on the floor, head raw red and bleeding on the ground, staining the chalk of grey._

_What had happened to James? Why wasn't he untying her hands?_

"_What do you want from me?" she murmured in a voice etched with fear, and it wasn't a child's voice any longer._

_Her wrists came free, but the smoke continued to shimmer eerily all over. Spanky was on the phone with Brandi, and she couldn't breathe. The fire was going to rage ahead and she couldn't get out a breath to tell her sister what to do. _

_A lighted window twinkled beyond like a beacon of hope, but she was too weak to stand. She saw herself, seven years old, trying to lift herself out but she crashed to the ground and let out a cry. The cry echoed and reverberated and the little girl turned into Cassidy, who turned into the baby fighting for her life in the nursery…_

Marshall was on his laptop, brought along so he could get some work done while he sat with Mary early on the morning of her fourth day in the hospital. That was until he heard her once-even breathing go ragged and harsh. His eyes flickered up from the screen and he saw her gasping, eyes still shut, fighting with the pillow he'd given her to shield her wound. Her head began to turn from side-to-side, clearly in the throes of one hell of a dream.

Marshall stood and let his laptop rest on the floor.

"Mary…" he jostled her shoulder lightly, not wanting to alarm her into waking up, but he didn't want her asleep if whatever she was seeing was disturbing her.

"Mary…wake up…" he coached and he was grateful to see her stir, straining to get back into the world of living.

He was about to reassure her again when her eyes snapped open; she stared into his face, breathing hard. She looked petrified, and not at all grounded in present day. She had her eyes locked on him, but no matter how long she looked, she didn't appear any less distressed.

"Hey…" Marshall whispered in hopes of bringing her back, hand still on her shoulder. "Just a dream, partner."

He expected to see her look relieved, but her next words proved she was still caught in the nightmare.

"I can't breathe!" she whispered urgently, voice hoarse from gasping.

"What?" Marshall was on the alert and took a quick glance at her vitals but nothing seemed to be out of place; they hummed along as usual. "What do you mean?"

"I can't breathe! I can't…I can't…"

She did seem rather winded, so Marshall decided to take her seriously.

"Okay…okay…" he said gently, squeezing her shoulder before stepping away. "I'll get someone; see what's wrong."

He was halfway to the door before she burst out again.

"The smoke…I can't…!"

Nope. Still the dream. She was fine. Just having trouble molding back to the mortal world.

Frantically, he saw her sit up and she swayed slightly with a wince. Her eyes were rolling a little bit; she was obviously determined to get a grip but couldn't manage.

"Mary, listen," Marshall jogged back to the bed and leaned in toward her face. "You're talking; that means you're breathing. You just had a nightmare."

"No…" she shook her head. Marshall was starting to get seriously concerned; he'd never seen her so delirious. "I saw him…he just left me on the floor…I couldn't move…"

Mary could see his face, clear as day in her mind and she longed to hold onto that image. Real or not, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of her father since the day he walked out. It was tantalizing, tormenting her with obsessive need.

"Why would he just…I was chained…?"

Anxiously, Marshall saw her look at her wrists with desperation. He was lost as to what this action might mean, but his reassurances didn't seem to make any difference. It was as if Mary didn't register that he was there.

"I didn't – I tried…I tried…but…!"

And now it was all she could say, working herself into a tizzy, breaths quickening as she attempted to make Marshall understand, but he was much more interested in getting her back to normal.

"Mary, calm down," his voice rose even as he tried to keep it steady, knowing there was nothing to do but persist in rationality. "It was nothing…it wasn't real."

She covered her eyes with her hand, gulping for air and that's when Marshall noticed how flushed her cheeks were, her forehead beaded with sweat. But she was shaking, not so much from fear; as though she were shivering.

"I'm gonna hurl…" she mumbled beneath her hand, this time sounding much more like her old self.

These were all the clues Marshall needed. Still standing, he put his hand on hers and tugged it away from her face. Her eyes were glassed-over, patches of red in her cheeks. She was struggling against his fingers closed around her wrist.

"Hey…" he said. "Come on…let me see…"

Fortunately, she obeyed and Marshall put his palm to her forehead, brushing her hair aside, which was fast-growing damp. Her flesh was hot against his skin; he slid his hand down to the rest of her face and felt her cheeks, also uncharacteristically warm. Marshall had suspected as much.

"Yeah, you've got a fever," he reported, putting three fingers back on her forehead.

She was starting to come to, "What?" she said in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, you're burning up," he reiterated. "I wonder if you've got an infection. Sit tight; I'll grab the doctor."

In the back of her mind, Mary wondered where he expected her to go but quickly brushed that thought aside at the fact that he was leaving. She wanted him to stay and keep her safe. Although she was becoming more aware with each second, felt her heart rate slowing down a little, she still felt jittery and on-edge. James had seemed so close.

The yearning must've shown on her face, because Marshall tried to smile sympathetically.

"I'll be right back. Try to relax."

She swallowed a few times and nodded as Marshall stepped out. She felt awful. She could feel every fiber touching her bare skin – the tape from the IV, her shirt fluttering against her ribs, even the hair tickling against her face. Her stomach was churning, rolling in waves crashing on her abdomen, and she suddenly felt as if she'd been battling the urge to vomit for days. In some respects she supposed she had, but it had yet to be this intense. Now that the figures from the dream were fading, she realized she was shivery and clammy. Marshall was right. She definitely had a fever.

The man himself returned in a matter of moments, followed by Doctor Schiff. Although Mary wasn't partial to male physicians, this one hadn't been too bad thus far.

"Not feeling so good, are we Mary?" he bounced in followed by a young female nurse. "Your hubby says you're pretty hot."

He chuckled at his own joke, but Mary with her predominately mushy mind, wasn't following. Did he think Marshall was her husband?

"Huh…?" she said dumbly as Marshall resumed his seat beside her.

Her fellow inspector, patient to a fault, shook his head and put a finger to his lips to keep her from asking anything else. Mary was still lost, but the longer Doctor Schiff fiddled with her IV, checked the pulse her neck, it started to come back. They still thought Marshall was the father of the baby. She'd forgotten the lie had carried them this far.

"I'm gonna get a look at your incision Mary; make sure you didn't pop a stitch, all right?" he detailed.

Why was he saying it like he was asking permission? She didn't exactly get a choice. She feared experiencing anymore pain would send her to the breaking point and she really would puke. Her muscles were all cramped; the tightness in her joints was making her very uncomfortable.

The nurse helped Marshall pull her blankets aside; she folded them on her side of the bed and Mary shivered again. The chills were becoming unbearable and fortunately, Marshall noticed. He abandoned the removal of the blankets and wrapped his arms around her even though she was still sitting upright and facing the end of the bed. Evidently, her repulsion of touch at the moment didn't extend to him because she burrowed in his grasp, desperate to find the warmth. Her shirt was moist and sweaty.

Doctor Schiff rolled down the ridge of her pajama pants to get a look at her staples. She sucked in her breath when he pressed around the area with three fingers as a red-hot burn seeped into her stomach.

"Breathe…" Marshall said softly beside her. "Take a breath…"

The doctor had finished before she could begin to follow his directions.

"Looks fine to me, Mary. I'd venture a guess the infection is on your internal scar. Fever's pretty common when that happens. I'll set you up with an ultrasound just to make sure."

Mary wanted to scream and yet didn't have the energy to do so. The nerves and the nausea was taking her back to when she'd been stuck in the hospital waiting to see what had happened during the fire. All that was supposed to be over and it was so agonizing knowing it wasn't. She'd never wanted someone to conk her over the head more in her life.

As they prepared to do the ultrasound, Marshall made an excuse about stepping out to take a call so he wouldn't be privy to Mary's lower-half being exposed. He was missing for most of the examination but Mary had quit fighting and was starting to feel out-of-it. She was freezing and began to feel embarrassed about her outburst with Marshall concerning her dream. She couldn't believe she'd acted like such an idiot, that she'd convinced herself it was real. Nothing about her father was real. Shouldn't she have learned that by now?

Dimly, she heard Doctor Schiff report that it was just what he'd suspected – the incision on her uterus had a slight irritation, causing the fever and infection. He proclaimed she would go on antibiotics (all this meant were more IV's) and would likely be okay in another day or two. Only one word made her tune back in.

"…You won't be able to visit your baby until you improve…"

"What?" Mary asked blearily, head almost lost in her pillow as the nurse wheeled the ultrasound machine away.

"The NICU has to be extremely sterile," he explained. "Until your infection clears up, you won't be able to go down there. I'm sorry; I know it's going to be…"

Mary wasn't listening anymore. It was a classic trait of her personality that the minute someone told her she wasn't allowed to do something; it made her desire it that much more. She was like a child. Wanting what she couldn't have. But there was something distinctly different about her aspirations now. She remembered nestling her father's chest in the dream and found herself chasing the sensation. She thought of mothers who sheltered their babies against their skin. Something told her that baby would be warm and soft and she could use both right now.

As soon as the doctor and nurse got her antibiotics set up, they bid her farewell and Marshall returned.

Mary felt gross – sweaty and sleepy and stupid. She didn't want Marshall to see her this way, but here he was – just like always. Before he sat down, he strode to the bathroom; Mary heard running water and when he came back he was holding a damp washcloth folded in two.

Vaguely, she wondered how long he'd been waiting outside – what he had postponed to get her diagnosis.

"For your head," he said as he sat down, indicating the washcloth. "Might make you feel a little better."

Mary seriously doubted this, but let him dab her forehead anyway until the nubby fabric came to rest in the center. Marshall pushed it up against her hair so he could see her eyes. They were vacant and fuzzy.

"Sucks, I know," he said bluntly. "And, most unfortunately, I have some more bad news."

"God, what now?" she murmured hoarsely. What else could possibly be wrong with her?

"It's not you," he said, reading her mind. "Just…something came up at work. A situation I need to go take care of. I'm sorry; I'd pass it off if I could, but…"

"No…" Mary said softly even though she was disappointed. "You go. I understand."

"Well, I called someone to sit with you and I shouldn't be long," he prattled off quickly, as though hoping to get credit for his efforts. And yet Mary knew that wasn't it. He didn't want to leave any more than she wanted him to.

Hazily, she wondered who he could've possibly called to keep her company that would go anywhere toward improving her health and her attitude. Brandi and Peter were both at work and her mother was gathering some of her things at home to bring to the hospital. In any case, they weren't likely to get a favorable reaction as she was in her current state. Despite her want for Jinx earlier, she was no fun at all when Mary was sick. She hovered and tried to feed her nasty chicken soup.

"They said I can't visit the baby," Mary whispered to Marshall.

He nodded, "I figured. But you'll shape up in no time and then you can go back. In the meantime, I'll keep an eye on her."

Mary knew that would have to do, and the thought was comforting. Marshall would do a much better job of watching over the child than she would anyway.

There was a knock at the door but Mary had let the washcloth slide down so far she couldn't raise her eyes to see who it was.

"Speak of the devil," Marshall remarked.

He stood up and pushed the material aside for the second time. Mary longed for him to stay but she couldn't admit that, not when he'd already seen her so vulnerable. The minute this thought entered her mind, she felt the need to express it.

"I'm sorry about before," she murmured guiltily. "It was…ridiculous."

"Nah," Marshall shrugged, understanding as ever. "You went through a lot. Your brain's just trying to sort it all out."

She half-expected him to quip, 'be the river' but he didn't.

"You get better, my friend," he said sweetly, rumpling her hair. "I'll be back later."

She swallowed and nodded, but chose not to speak. Her stomach was settling down and she wanted to keep it that way. Closing her eyes, she shifted lower into the pillows, faintly hearing Marshall open and close the door. Words were being exchanged between him and whoever had arrived, but nothing distinguishable. The presence of another, alone with her in her room didn't encourage her to open her eyes, and she wondered if she pretended to be asleep if he or she would just go away.

Evidently, that wasn't going to work.

"You look ridden hard and put away wet, inspector."

Her eyes flew open and she saw Stan, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was smiling softly, wearing his usual suit and maroon tie. She pushed the washcloth further up to get a better look, but she didn't attempt to rise.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, too surprised to cover up the brazen approach.

"Well…" he bounced lightly over, taking Marshall's seat. "Your partner thought you could use some company while you heal up. I understand you had a little setback."

"Minor," she murmured. "You didn't have to come," as expected.

"I haven't seen you since before you went into surgery. Been curious to see how you were holding up," he claimed easily.

"Top-notch," she said, dripping with sarcasm.

Stan never lasted long when in the trenches of her and Marshall's quick-witted, snarky banter. He usually just reverted straight to whatever he wanted heard, and this time was no exception.

"You could use a break, kiddo," his eyes twinkled as he said this with such affection. "I feel bad you're all laid-up."

"Why should you feel bad?" she wanted to know. "You didn't do anything. It was me. All me."

"Boy, you and Marshall are a couple of martyrs, you know that?" he chuckled, but not with the bitterness Mary would have.

"What does that mean?" she wrinkled her nose at the title.

"You think it's your fault the baby's sick. Marshall thinks it's his fault you're sick," Stan explained.

Mary was floored. Marshall thought it was his fault? Why hadn't he said something? And how could that possibly be? He hadn't done anything wrong; he'd been trying to make her happy, trying to put her on a case so she'd feel useful and not all washed-up. She hadn't viewed it that way until now, but that was exactly what it was.

"He said that?" Mary whispered, hoping to get more answers out of her boss. "Why?"

Stan was fully aware she already knew why and didn't intend to press the issue.

"It's not important," he said gently, touching the curve in her middle where she lay on her side. "I'm the boss and I make the call. You're both wrong."

Stan being referee took her back to when she and Marshall used to make stupid, brainless bets about their witnesses and their ability to survive either their marriage or the program. She felt like she was seeing those times through an old roll of film; black and white and misty. Her first night at home with Oscar and Marshall choking down that vile hot dog. Why did he do things like that for her? Put himself through something he hated just for some foolish game?

As she shut her eyes, another memory came to mind.

_I'm right, you're wrong. That is why I sing this song._

Strangely, it made her heart feel lighter to recall that, at least in some areas, he did for her and she did for him. He'd been so generous about Oscar, offering to take him but willing to let Mary have him if she really wanted. With a jolt, she recalled her and Oscar's first night as the same one she'd opened her sonogram pictures of the little girl now sleeping in the NICU.

Thoughts of her trailed in Mary's mind, leaving portions piece-by-piece. She was still firm on not leaving her when she was so frail. But she hadn't made any headway on what to do after that. Shouldn't a mother – a real mother – feel some automatic, maternal and protective bond to their child on first sight? She wasn't sure she had. She'd been so consumed with shame and confusion at their first visit. How was she to know for sure?

And her job – could she trust herself to give that away, even parts of it? Of course, who knew; she'd become such an embarrassingly weak-willed pansy in the last few days she doubted Stan even wanted her anymore.

There was only one way to find out.

"Stan…?" she murmured unexpectedly, noticing that the washcloth was doing a better task of soaking her skin now; drinking in the sweat.

"Hmm?" Stan had been humming merrily under his breath, as Mary had gone quiet.

Still lying on her left, oddly lopsided to him, she said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure," he answered invitingly, shifting higher in his chair as though to be a better listener. "Anything."

Stan was so different from Marshall. She cared for them both more than just about anyone else, but Marshall was so sensitive and steadfast – rational but sweet. Stan was unfailingly kind; a safe haven she could return to again and again. Even when he scolded and gave her what for, he never gave up on her – never made her feel like she wasn't worth it any longer.

"If I…for God knows what reason decide to take that kid home…"

Saying it aloud, even when she beat around the bush, made her heart stutter as though hitching in its beat. The prospect was invigorating, but also more frightening than anything she'd ever experienced. And she'd been shot and abducted, not to mention the ordeal she'd just struggled through.

"…Would you…I mean – after this…" Mary, even lying down awkwardly as she was, gestured at her ailing form. "…What if I can't be a Marshal anymore?"

That wasn't even what scared her – it was her next admission.

"What if I'm not strong enough anymore?"

The rest came easily.

"You must think I'm such a pussy now."

Stan sighed and scooted further forward on his chair so he stared down into her big green eyes, still shiny from her fever. She was looking at him with something less than hope – desperation and anguish. She couldn't stand that he and Marshall, the two men she trusted with her life, thought she wasn't up to snuff anymore.

"Mary…" he put his hand on her hair, patting it in a fatherly sort of way. "You know I don't think that. I never could. You are a badass. That'll never change, mother or not."

The odd poetry of the words made her heart surge, but she wasn't entirely convinced. She didn't believe blindly in anyone.

"Really?" she whispered childishly.

"Really. If you choose that pretty little girl and take her home, you'll still be a bear. You'll just be a mama bear," and he smiled warmly, still rubbing her hair affectionately.

She could assume he was telling the truth, but she had been plagued with worry over Marshall since the pair of them had hitched up in the ambulance. He had seen way more of her, both inside and out, then she'd showed anyone in ages and it gave her a sense of extreme vulnerability. Maybe Stan still thought she was ready to fight the fight, but Marshall? Just the idea that he saw her as weak or in any way pathetic was enough to reduce her to tears.

"What about Marshall?" and like a switch her voice went foggy when she choked up.

"What about him?" Stan asked gently.

"What if he doesn't want to be my partner anymore…if he thinks I should just stay home and be a housewife…?"

She felt the tears leak onto her cheeks and she was humiliated, but she just couldn't help it. She wasn't bawling, but she was too tired to wrestle with it.

Stan looked so sad it scared her. He never looked that way. He made a tender, 'oh…' sound and crouched even lower, elbows on his knees so he was just a few feet from her face.

"Sweetheart, Marshall loves you," he said in a peaceful voice that held every sign he was appalled she didn't realize this. "He wants you to be happy. You know that, don't you?"

Several things in this sentence made a few more tears fall from her eyes, running in strange paths from her reclined position – over her nose, around her lips. Stan calling her 'sweetheart' made her heart sink – her father had used to call her 'sweetheart' and had written it to her in the letter he'd sent the day he left. That and the fact that Stan was proclaiming so unabashedly that Marshall loved her. She knew as much, of course, but this seemed different somehow. Not along the lines of friendship, coworkers, or acquaintances.

She sniffed, hoping Stan wouldn't say anything. She tried to remember the conviction her mother had used in claiming her hormones had gone off-the-chart. It made for a good excuse.

"I just…" she started to say. "If I could do both…"

It was the first time she had seriously considered the possibility.

"I mean…I know it wouldn't be safe, but…just something…"

Her mind was too strung-out to word anything even semi-coherently. Fortunately, Stan seemed to understand what she was saying.

"I don't want to pressure you on anything, inspector. But, I want you to know that if you do become the Mommy Marshal, you're gonna have a lot of help," he said confidently. "You've got your mom, Brandi, Peter…"

He smiled and continued, "Me and Marshall."

Mary had never been good at accepting help and didn't know if it was fair to her daughter to have a halfway-parent. And there was still Mark lurking out there somewhere. Who knew what he wanted and where he would fit in? For another first, she also pondered the idea of less field work, of being in law enforcement but making more informed decisions about where she dashed off to and why. She knew, more securely than just about anything else, that she couldn't leave WITSEC. Even if she couldn't admit it, Marshall's philosophy of helping others start over and rebuild had stuck with her. But she didn't have to be gunning down the lunatics of the world – at least not _all_ the time – to be in Witness Protection.

Or, she could wrap it all in a bow for some other, more deserving family and never see that little girl again, and at least have the peace of mind knowing she was safe. But could she really do that? Mary had never been much for conventional.

Stan was watching her wrinkle her eyebrows as though thinking hard, but knew Marshall would tell him off if he let her get too worn out.

"You're spent," he said in his best 'firm' voice, giving her head one last tap. "Get some rest. I'll be here."

"Come on," Mary said, sounding just like her old self. "I'm not that touched in the head. Don't lie," she added as Stan opened his mouth to interject. "I know that doofus told you about my dream."

Stan sighed and smirked, but quirked his eyebrow to indicate he was serious. However, he faded again looking empathetic in answer to her accusation.

"I know you miss your dad, kid," he said softly. "That's okay."

It wasn't okay, but something bigger was on her mind. How had Marshall known?

She sighed and closed her eyes, never having felt so helpless in her life. She needed that sensation to go away and soon, or she wasn't sure she'd ever feel back to normal.

"About Marshall…" she said without opening her lids to peer at Stan. "I do know that," she clarified, referring to his earlier statement about her partner's feelings.

"Good," Stan said above her. "Because the guy would die for you."

_And almost did_, Mary thought automatically.

XXX

**A/N: Now, I know I have gone a bit heavy on the drama so far, but I figured that after Mary's little episode in the NICU, she couldn't go out completely unscathed. I can't write a story without angst! But, fear not; it is going to wend its way elsewhere very soon!**

**Also, many of you inquired about Abigail. Not to worry – she's coming (but I doubt that makes you happy LOL!)**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: My heart is full thanks to all of you! I can't tell you how nice it feels to have you think I can write.**

XXX

True to his word, when Marshall returned to the hospital that evening he made a detour to the NICU before going to see Mary. He was starting to feel distinctly wrung out – he snatched only a few hours of sleep here and there between the hospital and work – but he'd promised Mary, and he couldn't let her down.

Sitting beside the little bed in the furthest corner of the room, Marshall stroked her tiny arm, soft and sweet against his skin. They'd told him she was holding up well and before long he or Mary would be able to hold her. He wasn't sure how Mary would react to that, but he'd barely been able to contain his excitement. He knew it was a bad idea to get attached; he was still fully aware Mary could go with adoption, but he couldn't help himself. In his heart of hearts, she was his best friend's daughter and he adored her. The same way he adored her mother.

"You know…" Marshall whispered to the little being as she slept sedately on her back. "You may not remember me when you're older…"

Gently, he ran his nail over her head, still sheltered inside the light pink hat.

"But I'm not gonna forget you," still softer he spoke. "You're my little missy, no matter what."

He grinned at the unintentional nickname, not exactly planned but it summed up his feelings pretty well. The cotton on the hat felt nice against his fingers; the baby's head the size of a small softball.

"It's a good thing you're hanging tough," he continued in his ethereal voice. "Cause Mary's going through quite the roller coaster. I don't know if I could handle both of you."

He chuckled sadly, as though the child might actually respond but he just kept watching her chest rise and fall with each breath – just as she'd done every second since she landed. It was remarkable to Marshall, who marveled in every inch of her; dark lashes against her eyelids, rosy pink cheeks, and the way she kept plugging along and defying the odds.

"Slow and steady wins the race," he murmured philosophically.

Marshall leaned in and pressed his lips to her fingers through the holes in the cubicle, careful not to disturb her. He felt tears in his eyes but he forced them not to fall. He couldn't become all sentimental with Mary around. He had sworn to be supportive no matter what she decided, and he fully intended to do so. But it was becoming harder and harder to deny the pull he felt for this little girl, and the ache he would face if she were whisked out of his life.

"I'll be back later," he said and stood up, placing one final finger on her tummy before he made himself leave the room.

Trying to get a grip before he walked out, he meandered through the rows of other frail babies, other families holding vigil and praying for their safe recovery. He knew, despite Mary's concern, that she really had been very lucky. Near as he could tell, her spawn was going to turn out just fine. Nothing had yet impeded her progress.

Walking out the door, he was startled by someone on the other side where he stuttered to a halt across from the full-term babies in the nursery.

It was Abigail, huffing and blowing her hair out of her eyes. She didn't look angry, exactly, more upset and Marshall wasn't sure why she was here. It was true he'd seen very little of her since the fire, but he tried to go home as often as he could.

"Hey," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder to steady himself. "What's up? What are you doing down here?"

Abigail didn't answer right away. She seemed to be having trouble expressing herself in words. She just stared at him, eyes flashing dangerously, but there was a hint of sorrow behind them, of disbelief and complete lack-of-comprehension. Marshall, hand still on her shoulder, squeezed it and leaned in.

"Everything okay?"

Abigail sighed in an exasperated sort of way, but the disappointment in her eyes didn't go away. They flitted briefly to the door he had just come out, and then she spoke.

"Are you the father of Mary's baby?"

The words reached Marshall like a foreign language. He was utterly bewildered and didn't bother trying to keep the surprise off his face. He was stunned and also hurt by the accusation. Did she really think he would be unfaithful to her?

"What?" he said, a little louder than he intended. "Why would you ask me that?"

"I don't know!" Abigail's voice rose a little hysterically, her Texas twang still prevalent. "I just decided I'd pay your _girlfriend_ a visit, but her mother was there so I decided not to go in – come to find from a helpful nurse that she just spotted the _father_ down in the NICU. And here you are!"

She threw up her hands and they smacked audibly against her jeans. Marshall instantly understood, but he hadn't expected an innocent fib to get them in this much trouble. Mary had only said what she said so she wouldn't have to be in the delivery room by herself; it was nothing.

_Right_?

"Abigail, that isn't true," Marshall shook his head; underneath slightly perturbed that she had already donned Mary his girlfriend without knowing the details. "They only allow family to be with the patient under such extreme conditions; she was about to go into delivery and Jinx and Brandi weren't here yet. I was, so I stepped in so she wouldn't be alone," he explained. "I am not the father," he reiterated distinctly. "Mary only said that to get past all the protocol."

Still, even as Marshall laid it out, he felt an unfamiliar twinge against his ribs at claiming so forcefully him and that baby weren't related. What he said to Abigail may have been true, but his instincts were a little different.

"Mary's ex-husband Mark is the father," he revealed recklessly, hoping to ease her mind. "I promise."

Abigail did not look at all relieved and plowed on.

"Then why didn't you correct them afterwards?" she wanted to know. "Why didn't you tell the truth?"

There was no good answer for that one, and Marshall knew it. But, Mary was his friend and she'd been continually scared and withdrawn; he hadn't wanted to leave her and there was no denying it.

"I don't know," he shrugged sheepishly, deciding it was best to be honest. "I should have," he slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his feet, hoping the little sliver of humanity might placate Abigail, but it seemed that wasn't going to work.

"If this Mark character is the father, why isn't he here?" she asked, sticking her hands on her hips.

"He will be," Marshall nodded, not sure why this mattered. "Tomorrow, I believe."

Evidently it was this that triggered Abigail's relief because she sighed and swiped her hair out of her eyes. She was looking at the ground, raking her fingers through the strands while Marshall tried to get a read on her features.

"Good…" she said. "That's good. You won't have to spend so much time here once he shows up."

This assumption did not sit well with Marshall and he intended to have Abigail know it.

"Well I'm not…gonna stop coming to visit," he said firmly and Abigail looked up then. "Mary's my friend and she's in the hospital."

Abigail clearly didn't know what to say to that, she just sighed and shook her head, staring at Marshall as if she'd never seen him before in her life. Marshall himself was starting to feel conspicuous just standing in the hall like this, but he gave Abigail the chance to respond to his declaration.

"And what about me?" she asked.

"You?" Marshall prompted, unsure where this was going.

"Marshall, I've barely seen you," she informed him as though he were an idiot. "Mary has her mother and her sister and Peter and...pretty soon she'll have the father of her child. She doesn't need you."

The last phrase was too much for Marshall. It was a mark of his true feelings that he couldn't stand the idea of Mary not needing him. He needed her more than he had ever cared to admit and hearing aloud that she wasn't going to reciprocate nearly sent him over the edge.

"I'm not sure what part of this you're having trouble understanding," Marshall said through a clenched jaw, unable to reign in his anger. "Mary is my best friend. She's been my partner for almost ten years. She nearly lost her life. She went through major surgery, her daughter can't breathe on her own, and now she's running a fever. Or…did you miss that when you were upstairs?"

He knew how harsh he sounded, knew it would only upset Abigail further but the accusations made him prickle all over. He might have crossed some boundaries with Mary in the last few days, but they'd never been anything but perfectly chaste. Shouldn't Abigail grasp why he needed to stay with her?

"Marshall, I know she's your friend…" the woman said. "I shouldn't have said she didn't need you; I'm sorry," she apologized, at least having the grace to realize her blunder. "But I miss you…"

Abigail considered; Marshall could see the hesitation behind her eyes, pondering whether or not to reveal what she was thinking.

"Marshall…" she stepped forward and looked into his face, almost like she was memorizing his features. "I see the way you look at her."

Marshall was floored, but could he really defend something like that? He cared about Abigail very much. He had never wanted to hurt her and had convinced himself he hadn't done, but it was clear his devotion to Mary had rankled her more than he'd realized. Was it fair to her to stay in a relationship where she would always be left behind if Mary wanted him?

"Sounds like you and I need to rethink a few things," he murmured quietly.

Abigail nodded; he could see tears sparkling in her eyes and that made him feel worse. He really hadn't been fair to Abigail. She _was_ supposed to be his girlfriend.

"We can talk later," she said softly. And then, obviously still guilty for her prior words, "Go see Mary. She needs you."

Marshall opened his mouth to respond, to offer his own words of apology, but Abigail turned and headed back up the hall before he could begin to say anything else.

He felt as though he were having an out-of-body experience, like he was watching himself from afar stand moronically in the hall, staring at the spot where Abigail had disappeared. Had they just broken up?

Officially, no. But it was clearly coming down the pike and Marshall was hard-pressed not to blame himself for it, whatever insults he hurled at Abigail. No matter how innocent he claimed to be on the outside, on the inside his love ran deep for Mary and evidently he was a lot more inept at hiding it than he'd thought.

Eventually, he made his way back to Mary's room, hoping Jinx had departed by this time. When he approached the door, he saw her sitting up in bed, playing around on her laptop. He knew her mother had dropped it off so she could feel more useful and although he was wary of her spreading herself too thin, he was glad she felt up to being part of the action.

Trying to look as though nothing had gone wrong, he knocked and entered without waiting for a response.

"Hey skinny," she greeted him with a jerk of her head. "Eaten much lately?"

It was a strange way to begin a conversation, but now that Mary mentioned it, he hadn't been eating often – hadn't found the time between tending to her and tending to his witnesses.

"I'll get around to it," he said half-heartedly as he stepped over to the bed, watching her type madly on the laptop. "How you feeling?"

He put his hand on her forehead, brushing her bangs up. She didn't jerk away, which was a sign of how much closer they had become in the last few days. Ordinarily, she hated people touching her.

"Mmm…" Marshall murmured disapprovingly, turning his hand back to front. "Still warm."

_This is exactly what Abigail meant_, Marshall reminded himself with a mental kick.

"Yeah, I know; I got the full report from Jinx," Mary said irritably, interrupting his thoughts. "The woman is insane. She treats me like an infant when I'm sick. She's not careful I could very well get sick _from her_," she emphasized.

Despite her lingering fever, Marshall still thought she looked a little better. The color had returned to her cheeks and she wasn't all sweaty anymore. She was also moving around at a much quicker rate, which made everything easier.

"Other than Jinx, how are you doing?" he asked.

"Mmm," she shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Barfed my guts up earlier," she slipped in nonchalantly.

"Seriously?" he inquired. "Full-blown projective vomiting?"

"Sounds bad, I know," she held up a hand as she said this. "But it was a long time coming. Kind of felt better afterwards. Go figure, right?" she sounded weirdly fascinated, like it was a science experiment. Marshall decided not to be alarmed.

Taking a seat at her bedside, he leaned over to see what she was doing to keep his mind off Abigail.

"What are you working on?" he asked, sticking his neck way out.

Surprisingly, she yanked the computer out of his line of vision, looking oddly guilty. Marshall had thought it had something to do with WITSEC, but she rarely kept the details of her witnesses a secret. They were in the field together too often for such things to remain undisclosed.

"What?" he asked curiously. "You hiding something?" he was prying on purpose, trying to draw out her usual manner of grumpiness, proof to him that she might be transforming back into the same old Mary.

"No…" she said evasively.

Marshall wasn't fooled. He lunged to get a peek, which made her squeal and shield the screen of the laptop in her chest.

"Get your big nose out, you jackass!" she ordered, but he saw a hint of a smile playing around her lips.

"Come on, Mare," he was grinning too. "You tell me everything. What's up?"

She paused briefly, glancing down at her chest to see the screen, and then looked back to him.

"Not this time," she shook her head. "You'll make a huge deal and never let it rest until you get an answer – I've seen your work, inspector," she wagged a finger. "You're relentless. To the point of annoyance."

"You're really making me want to see it less," he joked; now he was really curious.

She didn't move, but Marshall chanced another grab, slowly sliding the laptop away from her chest, turning it around to see the screen. She didn't protest, but she was looking shy as he perused the contents.

Marshall was definitely surprised. She was looking at the Babies R' Us website – more specifically cribs and changing tables. Bizarrely, it made him want to laugh. The idea of Mary shopping for blankets and sleepers was so foreign. He knew it was exactly this attitude that made her want to keep the investigation from him. She feared he might scoff and doubt her abilities to…

_Mother? It couldn't be. _

Marshall's heart was fluttering like there were a flock of birds trying to escape, but he did his best to appear completely rational. He knew better than anyone she would bolt if he asked too much.

"You…want to tell me something?" he asked, standing to place the laptop on the cart at the end of the bed next to the flowers.

Mary shrugged, "Like what?"

Marshall didn't say anything, but resumed his seat and raised his eyebrows. She knew what.

"It doesn't mean anything," she prattled off quickly, trying to ward him off the idea. "I was just curious! That's all!" now she was on the defensive.

"It's okay to be curious," he assured her. "In fact, I say the more you find out, the better."

Mary wondered if that was true. She knew what Marshall meant – that getting more information would make her feel more capable in her abilities to raise her daughter, but she wasn't entirely sold on the idea. If anything, it just made everything seem more overwhelming.

"Speaking of," Marshall cut into her thoughts. "I went to visit the girl. She's looking good."

"Yeah?" Mary sounded hopeful, even, dare he say, excited.

"Yep," he nodded with conviction. "Getting stronger every day. They think we'll be able to hold her soon, which means she's well enough to be off the ventilator and may be able to breathe on her own."

As Marshall had predicted, Mary looked nervous at the prospect and bit her lip but he still caught the smile loitering somewhere – smaller this time, but present just the same.

"I'll tell you one thing," Mary said with a bitter chuckle, off the subject of the baby. "If I didn't see another hospital room for a decade it'd be too soon. I am going crazy here."

"Cabin fever?" Marshall inquired.

"Like the plague," she said dramatically, eyes bugging out of her head as she tried to convey her desperation. "The sooner I'm out of here, the sooner I can brush off Brandi and the gang. Jesus – I can take care of myself," she shook her head.

For some reason, this comment made Marshall uneasy. He wasn't afraid to admit he thought she was going to revert _completely_ back into the old Mary, the one who never let anyone in, who isolated herself and refused to succumb to comfort or friendship. Or even unions much more intimate.

This brought him back to Abigail's proclamation that Mary didn't need him. She'd said she hadn't meant it, but Marshall couldn't help reflecting. He'd move heaven and earth for Mary and he knew she'd always have his back, but her version of relationships weren't the same as his. He'd fallen hard and fairly fast over the years, but what did it matter if she didn't feel the same way? Maybe it was time for him to start moving on.

The thought was chilling. He couldn't ask outright, so he tried a different approach.

"Mary…" he began, watching her fiddle with the drawstring on her pants. He didn't even try to beat around the bush; just said it, "Do you…" He swallowed and then finished, "Do you…need me?"

"Hmm?" she murmured absently, eyes still on her pants and then she looked up casually. "To do what?"

Marshall was thrown, but then he realized the nature of the statement:

_What do you need me to do?_

Marshall sighed. Was this his answer right here? Was it a sign?

"No…" he tried to start again, but his throat was closing up with her inability to understand. He knew it wasn't on purpose, but it hurt just the same.

Mary narrowed her eyebrows at the look on his face; lids forming into slits.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked. "You're sure the baby's all right?"

Now he'd stuck his foot in it; he'd made her think he was fabricating tales of her daughter's strength.

"No-no," he shook his head resolutely. "She's fine. I just…"

Maybe he could let a different truth escape. He was always begging her to be honest and not shut herself away, so perhaps a different revelation was best.

"It's just…" he twiddled his thumbs in his lap, suddenly embarrassed to look at her. "Abigail and I had a fight."

Mary's instinct was to make a joke about this. But, thoughts of her last ninety-six hours and everything Marshall had done for her, plus her claim that she was going to be a better friend told her to reel it in. Combine that with Stan's reassurances that her partner loved her and wanted her to be happy, and she couldn't tease. Not when he had that look on his face.

"You did?" she offered. "About what?"

He still wasn't looking at her, and Mary grew impatient.

"Marshall," she said sharply, putting her hand on his knee to make him more aware. He glanced up, his eyes sad like a sick, abandoned puppy. She wasn't sure what this told her, but she pressed on. "About what?"

He couldn't deny he was surprised she was being so gentle with him, but he decided to take it.

"About…" he hoped what came next wouldn't induce her guilt. "You."

Mary sat back against the pillows, away from him, and there was uncertainty drawn on her face.

"Me?" she said. "What do I have to do with it?"

Marshall knew it would not be tactful to say Abigail was jealous. Just the same, he wasn't sure how to vocalize their argument without making Mary feel badly. It wasn't fair, especially since any problems he and Abigail had stemmed from his uninvolved attitude. He didn't have the right to drag Mary into it.

"I think she…thinks we're spending too much time together," he managed.

"Marshall, that isn't fair," Mary said definitively. "You can't let her get away with accusing you of that – making you feel like some Hugh Heffner. I'm in the hospital for Christ's sake. What did she expect you to do?"

It was pretty typical of Mary to pin the blame on Abigail, and he probably would've done the same if he hadn't known the truth. The problem was, Mary was the one who _didn't_ know the truth. It made things infinitely more complicated.

He couldn't tell her. He could lose her and what would he do then? The thought was too horrible to contemplate.

Mary looked at him, miserable and tired, and felt more gratitude and affection for him than she ever had in the past. He did everything for her, even give up his girlfriend. Could she really pretend she wasn't glad about that? A little voice in her head reminded her that meant he was all-but a free agent. And the way he'd been taking care of her, taking care of the baby…

"Well, I'm…" Mary shrugged indistinctly. "I'm sorry she doesn't get…" she flashed him a significant look. "How close we are."

Was she trying to tell him something? Marshall wasn't sure and Mary wasn't either.

"Yeah," Marshall just nodded. "Me too."

XXX

**A/N: So, Abigail lurks. Mark lurks. What to do, what to do LOL!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Bit of a hodge-podge chapter here – little of this, little of that. Starting to bring it together though; hopefully it's not too lengthy…**

XXX

"You must want to murder me in my sleep."

"Someone's a little over-dramatic…"

"Mark…come on," Mary pressed. "Tell me the truth."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" the man laughed; his brown eyes warm and deep; so childlike and naive.

Mark sat at Mary's bedside, flexing his fingers and being so agreeable it was startling to Mary. She'd painted him in such a negative light; forever holding him as this irresponsible kid that never owned-up and couldn't strap on a pair to save his life. She didn't know why she let herself get stuck in certain images. She did the same thing with her father and that had been no help at all.

"Mary," he said, raising his hands, palms up to indicate he wasn't hiding anything. "I was floored; I'm not gonna lie. Uh – when Brandi called," he clarified.

"Yeah, I got that," Mary rolled her eyes.

"But she said you could've died," he revealed. "When you hear something like that, a lot of the grudge goes out the window, you know?"

Mary didn't know – not really. She was the master of the unforgiving. She never let anyone forget how they might have hurt her.

"Mark…" Mary sighed and cocked her head; he grinned like she was turning him on. It was typical, but she pressed on, "I know I should've said something, but…"

"Yeah, you should've," he admitted. "I'm not a kid anymore, Mary."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed under her breath and he opened his mouth wide, pretending to be wounded.

"I just mean…" he shrugged. "You were the first woman I ever loved. I'm not gonna ditch you and that little girl just because it scares the hell out of me," he emitted a nervous chuckle, but Mary took pause at his mention of love. She'd thought about the word a lot more lately with Marshall and the baby – even her mother and father. She'd always kind of thrown it away; tucked it up; let it get dusty because she never used it. It was puzzling to her since she was surrounded by so many people who lived by it.

"Mark," she had to let him know something before any decisions were made.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, the strands catching the morning sunshine; sparkling like honey against the light. She put her hand on his shoulder, direct and firm.

"I do…love you," it was hard to get the words out, so rarely used. "But I'm not in love with you."

Mark smirked softly and looked down at his lap, a little pink in the cheeks, but he didn't seem surprised or even too disappointed. She'd always tried to make her feelings for him very clear.

"You sure know how to make a guy feel special," he quipped and she couldn't stop herself from grinning. What she'd said was true, but it was hard to dance away from the buoyancy she felt when Mark was around. He made her feel young and foolish, and she _didn't_ love him. But she'd spent way too long pretending he was worthless.

"So…" he sighed when she didn't answer, running his hands up and down his jeans. "I know where _we_ stand," he grinned again. "How 'bout you and the kid?"

The question had been ruminating in Mary's mind ad-nauseam for the last few days, tormenting her while she tried to sort out the pro's and con's of keeping the baby or giving her away. She didn't know what Mark wanted, but just as Brandi had said, it seemed he was just going to go along with what she thought was best. Why did everyone cater to her when she was such a grouch?

"Mark I…can't really get into this," she began. "I know Brandi told you that I'm a Marshal…"

"Yeah, when I was here before," he raised his eyebrows suggestively, which she did her best to ignore.

"Well…I can't give you details," she said tightly. "But I think it's pretty clear from the mess I've landed myself in that I don't just schlep chained criminals to and from the courthouse."

Mark just nodded and waited for her to continue.

"Mark I…" she sighed and her eyes roved over the ceiling, not knowing what was going to come out next. "…I just need her to be safe. I may be able to figure out the mothering thing eventually but…"

She threw him a wide-eyed, bewildered look, trying to indicate she was still fairly lost and didn't know how to find her way back.

"My job…I know it's selfish but…" she shrugged. "It's my life. It's all I know how to do and I don't…I don't think I can give it away."

She spoke about her work like it was what might be headed for adoption, but that was too difficult to contemplate. Mark was furrowing his brow, looking thoughtful and determined. Mary never knew what that face meant on him.

"Sounds like you're leaning away from the 'box 'em up and ship 'em out' route," he finally said.

Mary couldn't keep herself from rolling her eyes and she sighed exasperatedly, but Mark continued talking.

"I don't want you to give up something that means that much to you," he said. "You'll just end up resenting this kid if you feel that strongly about it."

"Wow," Mary interrupted. "That was deep," she teased. "Any more bouts of wisdom?"

"But…" Mark went on, ignoring her slight. "You know…you can install solar panels all over the country."

Mary raised her eyebrows so high they might disappear into her hair. Was he saying what she thought he was? Mark in Albuquerque? The very idea made her nervous, but she knew that curbed from her inability to believe Mark was capable of doing the right thing. From what she could gather, he was willing to pack up his life to move to what she formerly referred to as the hellhole of the southwest.

"Why would you do that?" she said aloud, eyes narrowed in skepticism.

"Mary, like it or not I'm that baby's father even if she doesn't call me dad," he reiterated. "I know you're not exactly a fan of the ways I try to 'help' but it sounds like you could use it. We can work together – figure it out was we go."

It was so classical of Mark to just wing it, to just try and see what worked. She never operated that way; she always wanted to be certain before she strayed down a path that might lead her wrong. But she'd never been more inept about anything in her life and she might have to trust her ex on this.

"I don't know Mark," she shook her head to save face, not completely sold. "What if I suck at this?"

"We both probably will," he laughed loudly. "But better people the two of us have had kids – on purpose, no less – and screwed it up worse."

"You're jumping the gun," Mary said sharply, chewing her thumbnail while she pondered his offer. "Girl could be on the couch before she's seven."

Why did she always zero in on that age? Was it supposed to be the landmark period for when children fell apart, just because it had happened that way for her? Memories of her father still lingering; she turned to Mark and remembered they had been married ten years after James had left. He knew more about that time in her life than anyone else – even Marshall – because he'd lived it. She couldn't deny thoughts of her dad abandoning her had weighed heavy on what was fast-becoming her decision to keep her daughter.

"Do you…remember my dad?" she asked abruptly without thinking.

Mark looked a little taken aback, but shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I never met him. He walked out when you were a kid, didn't he?"

"Yeah," she reminded him. "When I was seven."

He seemed to get it a little better now, reflecting on the target age she had just referenced.

"Guy's lucky he didn't get his balls shot off for that," he said bluntly and Mary tried not to laugh, but she couldn't help it. Mark was stupid and senseless sometimes, not a thing like Marshall who always tried to be sensitive about James, but he'd summed things up pretty well this time.

"You are a trip," she informed him. "And an ass."

"Ah…" he stood up, smiling broadly and spreading his arms wide. "Some things never change."

Mary chewed her bottom lip, wondering if this was his way of wrapping things together, of wanting to support her in whatever way she wanted.

"I gotta head out," he said. "Promised Brandi we'd have lunch so I could meet that fiancée of hers."

"Just like you two," Mary grumbled. "Ditching me."

Mark laughed, knowing she wasn't serious but then he turned so himself, stepping closer to the bed so he looked down at her from above.

"I'll look into some things out here," he said. "See what I can set up so I'll be nearby."

"Not _too_ nearby," she interjected and it was his turn to roll his eyes. "I mean…Santa Fe at least. Maybe even Flagstaff."

He shook his head obnoxiously, but Mary was feeling relieved and also increasingly more horrified. She'd as much as made her decision, in not-so-many words. If Mark was going to move out here to father the baby, even in part, that meant she was keeping her. A million things started to whirl through her mind – three A.M. feedings and sleepers, crib mobiles and toys strewn all over the floor. Baby names – the child didn't even have a moniker.

And whether Mark arrived or not, she knew at least one thing. She had Marshall – father, uncle, whatever she needed him to be. That, she was a hundred percent sure of.

Mark bent to kiss her cheek and instinctively, Mary twisted to do the same to him. She didn't make much contact, but force of habit didn't have her pulling away.

"Good to see you, beautiful," he said.

"Mark…" she eyed him warningly.

"Come on," he bounced lightly to the door, a spring in his step. "Let me come out on top for once."

She giggled at the analogy as he left the room.

She felt strangely calm, even with her heart jittering around in her ribcage. Shouldn't she be freaking out a little more? She'd made her choice so casually after so much time of wrestling with it, and she'd only seen her child once. It just felt good to land on something definite, even if it wasn't definite at all.

She didn't have time to dwell on it. Almost as soon as Mark left the room she heard another knock and Stan stuck his head in.

"Morning inspector," he called without coming all the way in so he looked like some bizarre floating head, sans torso.

Mary started and turned, trying to appear normal.

"Stan the man," she greeted him. "What's up?"

"I know it's early, but there's someone here who'd like to see you," he reported. "You good?"

Mary was bewildered. Who else would come to visit? Now that she'd gotten Mark out of the way, she figured the surprises were over. She should've known there was no such thing when it came to her life.

"I guess…" she told Stan uncertainly. He extended an indistinct hand to show he understood and pulled his head back out of the doorframe.

Her room had become a proverbial revolving-door of guests and she wasn't afraid to admit she was getting tired of it. She missed Marshall, who was able to wave them off like an invisible magic wand. His mere presence had them shrinking away, but she knew he was working with a testy witness this morning and likely wouldn't return until the evening. Mary was bored to tears and dying to go home – almost more than she wanted Marshall to sneak her out so she could aide with his witness. She longed for the aspects of her job as well.

With a squeak, the door eased itself slowly back open. Mary, thoroughly amazed, saw a tiny head of red hair and freckles slink into the room, looking shy, hands clasped in front of her as though not trying to brush anything.

"Cassidy," she whispered in astonishment.

How could she have forgotten? It was because of her – well, not _because_ of her – but due to her case that Mary was in the hospital in the first place.

"Good morning Mary," she said politely, rocking back and forth on her feet. She had on a red checkered dress today – sleeveless – which confirmed Mary's suspicions that it was still roasting outdoors.

The little girl didn't move with her salutation, almost like she was afraid to get too close. Mary decided to blast that out of the water quickly. She hated small talk.

"Come on," she invited with a wave of her hand. "Sit down," she inclined her head at the seat forever-perched at her bedside.

Cautiously, Cassidy stepped forward, one foot and then the other like she was just learning how to walk. Once she made it to the chair, she sat only on the very edge, the furthest corner from Mary.

Mary wasn't sure what to say to her. Clearly, something was bothering her, or else she was just scared of all the machines and relentless beeping going on. There had to be a reason she came to visit.

"How have you been?" Mary asked stupidly as though she were one of her adult witnesses.

Cassidy shrugged, eyes lingering on Mary's form. Evidently she wasn't going to be baited into a false sense of security.

"Chief Queen said they had to take the baby out of your belly," she whispered quietly. "And that she got hurt in the fire."

Trying not to laugh at Stan's new nickname and making a very deliberate mental note to greet him as such later, Mary suddenly realized that Cassidy, even if she couldn't recognize it, was feeling the same kind of guilt that Mary had been – that Marshall had been as well.

"Yeah, they did," Mary tried to answer casually, responding to her first statement. "But they actually took her out so she _wouldn't_ get hurt from the fire. The air is a lot cleaner out here than it was in my belly."

Mary thought she saw a small smile escape, absolving some of the child's guilt, but she decided to go the extra mile to make sure.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said firmly, and she distinctly saw Cassidy settle herself further back in the chair at these words. "You did just what I told you, and you were awesome. Very-very brave."

Cassidy poked her tongue through her teeth in a grin. Amazing, how easily kids could be pleased. Mary knew this one had a tough road ahead of her; nightmares of her grandfather being killed on top of entrapment in a burning building was nothing to take lightly. But she was glad to have at least pulled some of the hurt away.

But before either one of them could continue, the telltale knock sounded and Mary whirled around to see who it was this time. A man she didn't recognize with brown hair and sad eyes stood in the sliver of window visible. Mary was going to ward him away until Cassidy flung an arm over her head and gestured for him to enter.

Just as carefully as the little girl, he eased in, but Mary was puzzled. Who was this guy, and why did Cassidy know him? She supposed it could be her escort from the police department, but something told her this wasn't the case.

"Can I…help you?" Mary asked uncertainly, cocking her head, her spidey-senses tingling with the unknown in the room.

"I'm-I'm sorry to disturb you; we won't be long…" the man said, and Mary guessed his 'we' was referring to Cassidy but that still didn't explain anything. He was standing halfway between the door and the bed; Cassidy had turned in her seat to look at him.

"You want to tell me who you are?" Mary asked roughly, wishing he would just get on with it.

"I-I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm Alexander Ford," he reached to shake her hand, and the name triggered something in Mary's memory. "Cassidy's father."

Now she got it, as she clasped fingers with the man only briefly before pulling away. She remembered, very vaguely, Marshall telling her minutes after she'd been rescued from the school that Cassidy was safe and with her dad. She supposed this meant he was innocent after all – that he had been every bit the stand-up citizen his daughter had claimed he was.

While Mary was thinking about all this, he lifted Cassidy from the chair and took up residence himself, settling her on his lap. She nestled against his cheek and then into his chest. It was bliss, joy, and adoration and Mary's heart wrenched unexpectedly at the sight.

"Good to meet you Alex," she said to cover up. "Cassidy's told me quite a bit about you. Not that I remember much of it now," she attempted a joke.

"Listen…I-I…" Alex started to say. He was very antsy Mary noticed; very nervous, but there was a sweetness about him. The way he held his daughter certainly aided that image.

"Cassidy and I…have to fly back to Utah this afternoon – to testify," he added in case she didn't get it. "But I told Chief McQueen and Inspector Mann how important it was for me to see you before we left."

"And…why would that be?" Mary prompted, although she knew why. She just didn't feel like hearing it for some reason. She'd always been terrible at accepting praise.

"Inspector Shannon…" he began like he was preparing for a speech, but Mary interrupted.

"Mary," she corrected him. "Honestly. Cassidy calls me Mary," she informed him as though hoping this would ease some of his jitters. He was going to bounce right out of his seat if he wasn't careful.

"Well, Mary…" he started again and took a deep breath. This did seem to calm him slightly and he refrained from speaking so quickly, from jouncing Cassidy around on his knee.

"There's…not enough I can say…" he murmured softly. "To thank-you for what you did. The kind of sacrifice you made…"

"It's my job," she supplied automatically without thinking. "I was just doing my job. That's all there is to it."

Alex seemed surprised by the brazen way she wrote over his gratitude, but there was something else in his eyes as well. Could it be respect? Admiration?

"Cassidy's alive because of you," he stated boldly. "She never would've made it without your help."

To Mary's utter embarrassment, a tear slipped out of his eye and although she understood, she wasn't much for men bawling. She still had a fuzzy recollection of Marshall, all tearstained and sobbing when she'd come out of the fire. It made her very uncomfortable, which was probably why she didn't spend a lot of time on tears herself.

"Well…" Mary shrugged as though to indicate it had been nothing. "I'm not sure that's true," she offered. "Cassidy did a lot of it herself. She did everything I told her to. Believe me; I deal with a lot of worthless, lowlife adults who couldn't manage something as simple as that."

She had hoped Alex might crack a smile at this revelation, but he just continued to zero in on her, obviously determined to say his piece. It wasn't surprising, really. After everything Cassidy had told Mary about her father's obsessive need to always express his appreciation, she really should've seen this coming.

"Well I…I understand this is your fifth day in the hospital…" he spoke again.

"Give or take," Mary cut in. She'd sort of lost track.

"I've dealt with hospitals enough times to know how pricey they can be," he continued as though she hadn't interrupted.

Mary's ears definitely perked up at this declaration. She didn't like the sound of this.

"And with your daughter in Intensive Care; I can't imagine how much this is going to cost you…"

"Wait a minute…" Mary tried to stop him, holding up a hand before he got any further, but it was no good.

"I want to pay for your medical expenses," he plowed on recklessly. "Honestly; it's the least I can do."

Mary was floored, and not just a little annoyed. She didn't know why a grand gesture such as this bothered her so much, but it did. Maybe because she didn't know this guy, because giving her a ton of cash wasn't likely to make him or her feel any better. And she didn't want it. She had money and she had Marshall, and this guy had a kid he was going to raise all by himself under a new name and a new life.

Thinking it through enabled Mary not to stomp on the motion completely.

"So, you came all the way down here to tell me you're psychotic?" she said with a hint of amusement. "That you're gonna blow your life's work away for some broad you don't even know?"

"That's not really the point…" he began.

"Alex, look," Mary interjected, hoping to level with him. She put her hand on his knee to make him more aware. Both he and Cassidy looked straight at her, Cassidy with her head still buried against his chest.

"It's totally unnecessary," she said. "And completely ridiculous," she added her own touch. "You're a single father with a seven-year-old and you're starting all over. What would you do if I said yes? Survive on bread and water in some moldy old box under the stairs?"

She could see him considering, of trying to find a way out of her perfectly reasonable argument, but Mary sensed him having trouble.

"That's no way for you to live. That's no way for your daughter to live," she reminded him. "Chief McQueen and Inspector Mann will tell you – I'm made of tougher stuff than smoke and flames. Chances are, my daughter will be too."

It was the first time she'd called the child her daughter and the word felt strange on her tongue, but Alex and Cassidy had never known of her plan to give the baby away, and with good reason. As far as they were concerned, she was just another mother of the world trying to help her child survive. But she wasn't like any other mother – she was Mary, with a whole slew of people that were going to have to school her on how to be one.

"I just…" Alex shrugged at her statement. "There must be something I can do…"

For the first time, Mary understood his feeling of helplessness, that his nobility didn't just stem from wanting to do what was right, but from his own feelings of blame.

"I'm not an expert on change," Mary admitted. "Or on figuring out ways to make yourself or someone else feel better."

_That was Marshall's department_.

"But if there's anything you can do – just live your life," she told him. "Do it for yourself and for Cassidy. She worships the ground you walk on; she was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were innocent."

Alex smiled softly and looked down at his daughter; the same twinge passed through Mary's already fragile heart seeing Cassidy gaze up at him, all wonder and trust and hope.

"Don't let her down," Mary whispered without thinking. "And for God's sake; don't let her go."

She had nothing else to say, and most of what had come out wasn't even planned. Alex himself seemed a little befuddled by what she had just claimed, but it had driven the need to absolve his faults from his mind, and that was all Mary wanted. That, and to see a dad devote himself to his daughter in a way that her father never could.

"Well…" he said awkwardly, trying to proceed and pick up the thread. "Cassidy and I…have gotta get packed and ready to head to the airport."

"Uh-huh," Mary nodded, mind still on wayward fathers and where they went when they disappointed their little girls.

"Thank-you for taking the time to see me," he said, pleasant to a fault as he stood up, Cassidy on his hip.

She wasn't meeting his eyes now – the way his daughter laid a hand on his shoulder, the way he held her close and kept her from falling. All the little things; the light in Cassidy's eyes and the adoration in Alex's. It was becoming a little too bittersweet for Mary.

"I…won't forget what you did for us," Alex was saying as he looked down upon her. "I hope you start to feel better real soon."

He sounded like a dad then, she noticed. She wasn't sure if it was the words or the phrasing, but some part of it caught her ear.

"I'll do my best," Mary said, sounding robotic. "Have a safe trip."

"Bye Mary," Cassidy said from her spot in her father's arms.

Mary just nodded her response to the child. Alex seemed to sense that they were finished and made his way to the door, Cassidy with her arm strung over his back. Her free hand fiddled with the buttons on the shirt he was wearing, and Mary heard them whispering all the way to the door. A silly, soft little giggle escaped from Cassidy and she heard Alex laugh too. It was music and nails-on-a-chalkboard all at once, and Mary fought to stay in-bounds with her emotions as they exited and the door clunked shut behind them.

Mary never did fathers and daughters well, and this time was no exception. It was only heightened by the fact that she had spent far too much time thinking about James as of late. The decision to keep her daughter had made the issue of James that much more vague and unsettling. If she made one hard choice, could she make another? She knew she should've let him go many years before.

So engrossed in her views, Mary missed the door opening for the third time and was startled to see Marshall appear at her bedside.

"Hey," he greeted her casually.

It took her a moment to react and when she turned, she knew she was wide-eyed and lost in thought.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Marshall said as he took his usual seat.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked. "I didn't expect you until tonight."

"Ah, well," he put up his hands in defeat. "You hit a snag, you rearrange, do what you gotta do. You know that better than anyone."

He smirked boyishly and she tried to smile back.

"How'd it go with Mark?" he asked, trying to ignore her vacant expression.

_Mark? Oh, right. _

Suddenly, the idea that she was going to become a mother was terrifying all over again. Was she nuts? Had she made a horrible, ghastly mistake? In the very darkest, dustiest corners of her mind she knew she was only freaking because it was just Marshall, and he was the only one she could truly express her fears to. He never made fun or made her feel stupid.

"Marshall, I…I…" she started to say it; her throat feeling dry and scratchy.

She wanted to spill, to unleash it, and yet couldn't all at the same time.

"I'm…I'm…"

Marshall waited patiently until she finally got it out.

"I'm…gonna keep her," she whispered.

"You…you are?" Marshall didn't have the speech impediment she did and pounced immediately. "Really? Just like that?"

Underneath it all, Mary caught the excitement in his voice; the thrill with which he said the words to confirm that she was – quite frankly – making his dreams come true. That little one was going to be Mary's little missy after all.

"Well…" Mary swallowed again. "Mark and I talked and…he's gonna come out here to… 'help' or…some version of 'help.' At least until I figure out what to do about work," she admitted.

Marshall couldn't help it. He smiled; beamed actually and the look of joy on his face was enough to convince Mary she'd done the right thing. Anything that made Marshall this happy couldn't be all bad. Marshall was not exactly guarded with his emotions, but he did rein things in where Mary was concerned and some part of her was glad to see him let loose.

"I'm very proud of you," he said distinctly and he actually leaned over and pecked her cheek. It was nothing like when Mark did it; all of her senses tingled with the contact as though she'd been hit in the face, not lightly kissed.

"Of course, I would've been proud if you'd gone with adoption too – you know that," he wanted to make that clear. All he really wanted was for Mary to do what made her the happiest.

Mary believed him as she said, "I know."

"I just wanted you to do what you thought was best and if this is it, then…" he shrugged, still with that silly grin and Mary chuckled softly, unable to hide it any longer.

"Marshall, I'm still…sort of…"

Mary was having trouble stringing phrases together again as she thought about what was going to come out of her mouth. She hated for people to know she was frightened, but given all that Marshall had seen in the last five days, this was a bee sting.

Bless him though; she didn't have to finish. He put his hand on her leg and squeezed it once.

"It's scary, I know," he said for her.

"Scary as hell," she reiterated.

"Scary as hell," Marshall repeated with a laugh. "But I want you to know, Mare…if you want me, you've got me."

_Wait a second – how did that sound?_

"I mean," Marshall hurried to rephrase. "Just…if you're running low on sleep or need someone to hang out with her or an…extra set of hands…" he prattled on. "I'm here."

She knew that much. It was really the only thing that seemed clear right now. She'd fallen into another hazy underworld but at least this time she felt more confident she could pull herself out.

"And…I want you to know…" she started to say.

She wondered if this was smart; if it was okay, if she was going to ruin everything by blurting it out when she was high on hormones and jumped-up memories of her father. But, she well-remembered Marshall's round-about way of asking if he was a necessity in her life. She couldn't let him think otherwise, not after she'd responded so foolishly the day before.

"Just because Mark's the father," she whispered boldly. "Doesn't mean we don't need you too."

XXX

**A/N: They go the long way around the bed, don't they? LOL! And, bear in mind once more that I did write this before season five, so I didn't know the show was going to have Mark stick around too. But, if you know me at all, you know I would have a tough time leaving him in the dark!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I think this chapter will make some of you happy for a variety of reasons!**

XXX

"Marshall?"

The man swallowed hard at hearing Abigail's voice on the other end of his cell phone. He was sitting at his desk in the WITSEC office, Stan scribbling paperwork in the room beyond, Mary's post still achingly empty. He wasn't sure he could say what was about to come out of his mouth and live with himself. The moon hung low in the sky, a beautiful C-shaped crescent against the blanket of navy. Marshall felt like he'd flown to it and also crashed into it.

"Marshall, are you there?" Abigail repeated.

"Yes," he said as quickly as he was able. "I'm here."

Another silence followed; the gears in Marshall's head spinning in about five different directions. How did he do this? Not on the phone – he had promised himself he wouldn't do it on the phone.

"You at the hospital?" Abigail asked to fill the break.

"No, I'm…I'm at work," he shook his head even though Abigail couldn't see him. "Wrapping things up for the evening."

The only thing playing over-and-over in Marshall's head were Mary's words. She needed him; her daughter needed him. She wasn't his girlfriend – she wasn't. She wasn't his wife and he wasn't the father of her baby.

_Biologically-speaking_, the voice in his head chastised.

He'd known the minute she'd expressed her desire for him, platonic or otherwise, that he couldn't continue to lead Abigail on, whatever happened with Mary in the future. He hadn't worked it all out yet, but one thing he knew for sure was that to string Abigail by a thread wasn't right or fair or healthy. He could figure Mary out later – much later.

"Hey, have you…got anything going on tonight?" he asked Abigail when she didn't respond. "I'll be home in fifteen and we can talk."

It was so stupid – so very-very stupid – to play this silly game. She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about and she proved it with her next words.

"Do I really need to be present to know what it is you're going to say?" she whispered evenly, regaining her composure. "I think I can venture a pretty decent guess Marshall."

It was a sad fact that he'd deluded himself into thinking pretending for Abigail's benefit might make her feel better. But he realized it was just as insulting to act as if she didn't have a clue. Her declaration about the way he looked at Mary should've been enough to convince him of that.

"I just thought we could have some dinner first," he offered, not ready to give up the ghost yet. "We've both had a long day."

"I'll save you the trouble on that front," she sounded a little tighter now, but remained calm. "I've gotten the break-up speech before. Just…spare me the, 'it's not you, it's me,'" she requested.

That had been exactly what Marshall was going to say, or at least some version of the trite and stilted line. This made him grateful Abigail had expressed her preference.

"I won't say it," he murmured. "But it's true."

She sighed, but didn't say anything to that. He knew they had a few steps still to come. He'd have to pick up his things at the house – find a place to stay. The future was fraught with awkward, after-hours meetings where they stood around all ill-at-ease and claimed they'd stay friends even though they wouldn't.

"I never meant for this happen Abigail," Marshall wanted her to know. "Not…this way," he went on. "It seems impossible, I know, but I wish I hadn't hurt you. What I've done…it isn't fair…"

"Marshall, it's not as bad as you make it sound," she presented magnanimously. "Mary is your partner. You've known her a long time; you saved her life, she's saved yours. She's a new mother and…"

Abigail wasn't sure how to continue, he could tell, and Marshall almost wished she would get angry again. This sad and subtle disappointment was making him feel much worse.

"I know you're the only friend she has," she finished quietly, some shame inching its way through, but not as much as she would've attempted three days before.

Hearing it aloud didn't sit well with Marshall, but he couldn't deny Mary had never gone out of her way to be accepting of other people. He was fully aware they were only as close as they were because in the beginning they'd been stuck with each other, and Stan had forced them to get along. Somewhere along the road they'd found their niche and Marshall fell into it like a glove. However Mary felt…that was another day.

"Mary can be difficult," he tried to admit. "I do get that."

"Helps to hear it," Abigail chuckled bitterly. "Too bad it's a day late and a dollar short."

Marshall knew she was right, but there were no stopping things now. It was time to sever ties; time to say what needed to be said and move on.

"Abigail, I am sorry," he said softly with a lump in his throat. "I really am."

"I know you are Marshall," she claimed. "Be happy, okay?"

Marshall heard the tears in her voice and was hard-pressed not to let his own fall at just how hard she was trying not to place blame on him, to end things on good terms. He wanted to say something just as heartfelt back to her, but doubted his words would be of much comfort.

"You too," was all he said before he heard her hang up.

Closing his phone slowly, he placed it on his desktop, sliding it up against his keyboard as he stared into the dimly lit office. The only sounds were the scratching of Stan's pencil and the gentle hum of the coffee maker. He didn't feel sad, really – just disappointed in himself, disappointed he'd let himself get in so far when his heart wasn't in it. And disappointed he'd let himself give up a perfectly good relationship for a woman who might not even feel the same way he did.

Lost in thought, much like Mary herself had been that morning, he heard Stan stride out in the back of his mind, wearing only his shirt sleeves. The jacket was still hung over his chair in the office; his tie was loose at the neck.

"Why do you look like that?" he inquired of Marshall's vacant expression. "Bad news?"

"Nah…" Marshall shrugged and pocketed his phone as he stood up. "Well…sort of," he amended.

"What's up?" Stan pressed as Marshall shouldered his own jacket, too hot to wear it even at nighttime.

"Ah…" Marshall said indistinctly, looking at the ground in his embarrassment. "Abigail and I broke up."

"Really," Stan said, not phrasing it as a question. "Interesting."

_What's interesting_, Mary would have said.

"Maybe not," was Marshall's response.

"Makes sense to me," Stan nodded his approval quite swiftly, proving in not-so-many words what was really on his mind. "You going to see Mary?"

Marshall was fully aware of why Stan was asking. It was to get confirmation for the little scenario going on in his head. Marshall had always wondered how much Stan suspected or knew about his feelings for Mary, and judging by his expertly raised eyebrows at the moment, he was more in-tune than he'd anticipated.

"Yeah," he told his boss. "Before I turn in."

Although where, he didn't know. He wondered if Mary would object to him snoozing in that chair at her bedside. Otherwise he'd have to take up residence on the roof here at the Sunshine Building, and he wasn't sure Stan would take kindly to that.

"You hear the news?" Marshall asked to avoid responding to the now-smug look playing on Stan's face.

"Mmm?" he asked. "What news?"

"Mary's keeping the baby," he revealed. "She spoke to Mark this morning. It's official."

Stan shook his head, but there was amusement behind his features, "That battleaxe never tells me anything."

"Well, it's kind of on the down-low," Marshall admitted. "I don't know if Brandi and Jinx know yet or not."

Stan just laughed at that, but he clapped Marshall's shoulder as he made his way to the elevator.

"Well, tell her I say hi," he requested. "Or…congrats or…good luck or…whatever greeting you think she'll accept without biting your head off."

It was Marshall's turn to laugh as he nodded his understanding and reached to pull open the double doors separating him from the entry. Stan's hand was still on his shoulder, paternal and oddly nurturing.

"Sorry about Abigail, inspector," he said briefly. "It's never easy."

Marshall shrugged, knowing he could count on Stan not to make him feel worse, and he bobbed his head indicating his approval. Without another word, he strode from the office, wondering if he could save face in front of Mary and manage not to discuss right away that he and Abigail had gone their separate ways – and more importantly, why.

By the time he arrived at Mesa Regional it was almost eleven and he wondered if Mary would even still be awake. He was running low on sleep himself and knew Mary would order him to go back home and quit hovering, but he didn't have a home to go back to at the moment. At least he had a ready-made excuse if she got testy.

When he showed up in the maternity ward and made his way to her room, he was surprised to see through the tiny little window that her bed was empty. He stuck his head in before entering completely, and then saw that her bathroom door was shut. Slipping inside to wait, he shut the hatch carefully behind him.

He wasn't inside two seconds before the toilet flushed and Mary pattered out in her usual drawstring pants and T-shirt, no socks because she maintained they were too warm underneath her covers.

"Hey," she waved a hand amidst her shuffling steps, still forced to jaunt awkwardly because of her stitches. "I thought you'd gone home for the night. Why'd you come back?"

"Well, I said I'd be here," he reminded her. "Wanted to hold up my end of the bargain."

"Marshall if you aren't careful you're going to fall asleep at the wheel and crash that soccer mom SUV you drive," she wagged a disapproving finger. "Seriously doofus, get some rest."

Marshall wasn't sure how to respond without revealing the break-up, so he just shrugged and tried to smile. Fortunately, Mary seemed to buy this or else she wasn't paying much attention because she spoke right through him.

"If you're so immune to sleep, you think you could come back tomorrow…say, around ten o'clock?" she asked, strangely evasive, almost like she was withholding something.

"Uh…I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not sure what I've got going on tomorrow. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm busting out of this joint!" she exploded, and without further ado she hobbled over to him faster than he was expecting until she was right in front of his face.

At first, Marshall thought she was just planning an escape route until he noticed the telltale gleam in her eyes – the one she only got when she was truly pleased. Without warning, a suspicious but nonetheless hopeful smile began to emerge in his features as well.

"You get to go home?" he inquired, wanting to make sure as he stared into her face.

"They're stalking my vitals one more night like the creepers they are but so long as I stay golden…" she tossed up her hands. "I'm out of here!"

"Mare, that's fantastic!" he burst without preamble, unable to keep the grin off his face.

"You bet your ass its fantastic, Poindexter!"

Marshall laughed, but soon became thoroughly astonished as Mary stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck. The man was appalled. Mary showing outward affection was about as common as snow in July – she must really be happy. He could feel her breathing against him, so close pressed together the rise and fall of her chest brushed his own. She was soft and warm; light but strong.

"Quite a mood you're in," he quipped as she slipped away, suddenly looking shy. "I'm not afraid to admit the cheerfulness is a little frightening."

She merely shrugged, but was unable to help herself from keeping the persistent smirk at the forefront. Marshall was hard-pressed not to blame her; she hated hospitals and having her clock run by somebody else. She'd been ready from day one, walking be damned.

This brought another realization to Marshall's mind. He really hadn't seen Mary up and around since their unsuccessful trip to the NICU. Much as she despised it, she did tend to stay confined to the bed at the doctor's request.

"Look at you all straight and tall like a functioning human being," he poked a little bit of fun, knowing she was far from this. Her form was slightly hunched as a reminder to all that striding around wasn't as easy as it used to be.

"You need your eyes checked if you think this is anywhere near straight," was Mary's predictable response as she made her way slowly back to the bed. "My gut is still burning like somebody scorched me with a fire poker. God only knows what Jinx has in store for me when I get to the house tomorrow."

Marshall considered while she pulled the covers aside. Without thinking, he put a hand to her arm so she would stay anchored to the floor while clambering inside. It took several moments for it to occur to him that she was accepting help with nary a sarcastic phrase. It seemed life or death situations did bring out a different color in his best friend. All the excitement was pushing Abigail straight from his mind.

"Speaking of Jinx," he began, watching her wince just slightly, making herself comfortable beneath the blanket. "Do she and Brandi know about you and little missy?" he let the moniker slip without thinking, but Mary laughed.

"Little missy…" she scoffed. "Jesus, that's corny," but she was still smiling, even when she obviously bemoaned the next reveal. "Yeah, they know," a sigh. "They were both here this afternoon – and having conniptions, I might add. She's a baby, not the latest Lexus."

Marshall managed to brush over her mocking of his nickname as he sat in the chair he was so used to. Mary made no protest, something that surprised him with the lateness of the hour.

"Do you mean to tell me you expected anything less?"

"From those two?" Mary raised her eyebrows while she sunk into propped pillows. "Hardly."

"Although you are ordinarily immune to facilitation, I can't help thinking you might appreciate a little hospitality on the home front," he decided in his best scholarly voice. "You're going to have your hands full recuperating, even without a newborn in the house right away."

Mention of the baby a second time seemed to steer Mary away from the annoyance she might've usually felt at needing a helping hand. She bit on her lower lip, chewing thoughtfully and watching him where he sat, hands clasped in his lap. He seemed to sense where her mind had gone and waited, blinking politely in the silence.

"I don't know, Marshall…" she said quietly, shaking her head.

"About?" he inquired, eager to keep his thoughts away from Abigail and where he would be sleeping that night.

"This thing with this kid…" she exhaled, closing her eyes slowly and then reopening them. "The decision felt so spontaneous. Now I'm just wondering what the hell I was on…"

"Well, I would think a little hesitation is normal," Marshall allowed. "Given your original plan and everything that's gone on this week. Anybody would feel confused."

"Even you?" she scoffed disbelievingly, and Marshall wasn't sure, but he had a feeling such a question was supposed to be a compliment.

"I cannot truthfully say," he admitted, crossing his legs now as he settled in. "I've never been in your place."

Mary nodded, not entirely endeared to the fact that Marshall had no experience in this area. She was used to him being able to give her advice because he knew the ins and outs of every little thing. This was different. It was new to both of them, which Mary found both thrilling and alarming.

"I've just…I've only seen her once…" she went on softly. "How can I really be sure after one time? I was barely in there five minutes," she gestured indiscriminately toward the door, indicating the NICU.

"While that may be the case…" Marshall was not overly concerned, and his gentle, carrying tone should've told her as much. "But, don't you think there have been some other factors contributing to your eventual conclusion?"

"Do you always have to talk like a walking encyclopedia?" Mary snarked, but Marshall knew she was stalling.

"Mary."

She sighed a third time, stopping dead in her tracks and blowing her hair out of her eyes at how well he knew her. Nearly a week before, she'd have found it highly irritating. But now, despite the façade she put up, it was almost welcoming. Feeling as though she didn't _have_ to hide meant there was no real reason to. And Marshall's clear, sedate blue eyes were just the key to pulling her inward time and again. She couldn't help noticing, however, that they looked a little melancholy even in their wisdom.

"I just think of her when she's Cassidy's age…" she finally admitted. "Running around, trying to find her way, using words like, 'forgott-ed…'"

"Uh-huh…" Marshall bit back a laugh, but Mary kept on.

"I don't want to miss it."

She sounded a tad uncertain, Marshall would grant her that, but there was also a yearning that lay deep within. She craved those moments of watching a young girl begin her journey through life. Particularly a young seven-year-old girl. Marshall knew there was more, and he couldn't interrupt for anything.

"I can't leave her like my dad left me," Mary whispered in a choked voice. "I can't…" she swallowed so hard Marshall saw the lump go down her throat. "I needed him, Marshall. I needed him so badly and he _left_…" the emphasis on that final word convinced him just how much this still bothered her, even thirty years later. "I can't do that do her. I mean, doesn't she…?"

Her eyes began to skirt, like she knew the phrase she wished to use but doubted it somehow. Marshall hung on for a moment, undoing his hands and folding them on his jeans, trying to let her come to terms on her own. But, the longer she waffled, the more he thought she might need a push. Evidently, his muddled question about requiring another individual had-had quite the effect on her.

"Doesn't she what?" he murmured.

His voice did the trick. Mary's eyes found his once more, knowing her original combination of words worked just fine.

"Doesn't she need…?" a shrug. And then, "Doesn't she need _me_? I mean, I needed James because of Jinx – because of Brandi…"

"You needed him because he was your father, Mare…" he couldn't resist pointing out, but she didn't seem to have heard.

"And that baby needs me because…" she was lost again, trying to process what Marshall had just claimed. "Because…?"

She had been about to say, "Because she's sick." She kept holding this child as frail and lagging behind because she'd been born so early; it had been her ready-made excuse to keep her in her life. But Mary knew, in her very heart of hearts, that it wasn't the illness or the guilt tying her to such a tiny being. It was the pull between them; the unfathomable desire to be at one with your own flesh and blood. She hadn't felt such a connection since James. Not since he'd walked out the door.

And Marshall, as always, knew there was a word for such a feeling. His hand found her leg and relaxed there, recalling her glance to his.

"Because we _all_ need _somebody_," he finished the sentence for her. "Some of us mortals call that love."

He smiled just a little to show he was teasing and got the same reaction from his best friend. He was enchanted at seeing her open up like this, at taking ownership of something that scared her so fiercely. He knew James had been on her mind a lot lately, but hoped all these new revelations – this desire to protect as well as _be_ protected – was aiding in putting him behind her.

"Talking 'bout the l-word…" Mary segued to get them out of the sentimental minefield. "It's getting kind of late, partner. Nancy Drew is probably expecting you."

He'd tried to forget. It hadn't worked in the least, but he'd tried. The broken part of himself wanted to share his heartache with Mary, but he knew he could not. She had far too much going on; far too much to worry about as well as anticipate. He would tell her. Just not now.

After all, he'd already told her they'd fought. She seemed to have forgotten about it, or assumed it was fixed. He could let her think that for another night.

"Yeah…" he even checked his watch. "Probably."

Mary nodded, "Don't feel like you have to give me a ride if I actually get out of here tomorrow," she groped, trying to find the button that turned out the lights. Maybe she hadn't put the argument completely from her mind. "I can always pester Jinx. I'm sure Abigail misses you."

Marshall had never lied to Mary. Unless you counted the lie that was his life. Nonetheless, he forced a smile and a nod to match her own.

"Yeah…" he whispered. "I'm sure she does."

XXX

**A/N: Well, I have canned Abigail LOL! That should bring relief to a great many of you.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is stupidly short! It wasn't on purpose or anything; just happened!**

XXX

Lying never sat well with Marshall. It ate away at him – made him sick to his stomach. He wasn't sure why that was the case. When you considered his feelings for Mary and the fact that he'd started dating Abigail, he was really living an enormous fib. And then there was his job. It was those outright lies to those he cared about that bothered him. Therefore, he was fairly certain that the roof of the Sunshine Building being uncomfortable wasn't the only reason he didn't sleep well that night. He had several left-behind coats that made for some bedding, and the temperature went down with the sun, but still. It was lonely and he was preoccupied.

Stan was the one who found him. He came through the elevator at nine o'clock and discovered his lanky form passed out in a lawn chair. Remembering his confession the night before about breaking up with Abigail and trusting his intuition about Mary, Stan knew this was not the most ideal of situations. After dumping his things in his office, he strode back to the window and rapped hard three times on the glass.

It didn't take long for Marshall to stir, and it was to find his boss beckoning with a pitying finger, not without his eyes narrowed in a little bit of frustration. The younger man stood, trying to flatten his hair in the reflection, and knew it was time to face the music, at least as far as Stan was concerned.

Stan was sipping coffee sedately when he quietly reentered the office.

"Morning to you, inspector…" he said a low voice that did not conceal the fact that he wanted answers. "Might I ask why you're bunking at federal headquarters?"

Marshall hedged momentarily, cursing himself for not setting the alarm on his phone. But, he'd been so tired once he'd finally drifted off; he'd never even thought about rousing himself at the dawn's pink light.

"Well…" he coughed to clear his throat, feeling very out-of-his-element with this kind of awkwardness in front of Stan. "It was…not as though I could go home to Abigail…" he attempted to explain. "A hotel seemed rather pricey…" so terrible at fabricating stories of this nature.

"Yes-yes, I know all about you and Abigail…" Stan mused shrewdly with another dreg of his coffee. "I just don't find it all that plausible Mary would deny you a place on her couch after hearing the news – especially when she's not in the house. Am I wrong?"

Stan wasn't a chief for nothing. Marshall should've known as much, but still tried his hardest to ward off the conversation he knew was coming. He had no desire to wade through it at the moment.

"Actually, Mary may get to go home today…" he said it as though this was the reason he hadn't occupied her living quarters. "So, technically-speaking…"

There was no sale, "Marshall, you didn't tell her you and Abigail broke up," Stan concluded. "Did you?"

It wasn't often Marshall felt ashamed, but he had certainly filled his quota on it this week. Between having Mary almost die in an unruly blaze, to his attitude toward his former girlfriend, to keeping gossipy secrets from his boss; his guilt was running rampant. The effect of his feelings for Mary was catching right up with him; he could only sprint so far.

"No…" he eventually conceded, running an agitated hand over his still-rumpled hair. "I didn't. She really has enough to be concerned with."

Stan was quiet for a moment, downing his coffee, and trying to figure out the best way to go about this. He'd amused Marshall's quiet worship for nearly ten years now. He'd allowed his two inspectors to carry on in their own dysfunctional but nonetheless content rhythm. He'd thought many a time that one or the other – or both – really would move on. The lingering spark would begin to fade and they'd fit forever as friends; as comfortable as two old shoes. It seemed that tiny flicker was going to stick around until one was brave enough to relight the candle or snuff it out for good.

"Mary loves you…" was his answer, simple yet decodable. He'd said the same thing to the woman herself about this man standing right in front of him. "After everything you've done for her, I'm sure she'd be happy to lend an ear."

"Only trouble with that is…" Marshall shrugged, fighting to keep his gaze steady on Stan. "She'd ask me why we split and…" he shook his head side-to-side, not able to contemplate where to go from here. "I'm really not sure she's ready for that," a bitter laugh escaped.

It certainly beat around the bush, but it was as close to admission as Marshall was going to get. Fortunately, Stan understood – at least in part – and he put a hand to his shoulder, much as he had the night before. A man of such intellect didn't need to be told; he knew what he'd seen. Nobody could make this decision but Marshall.

"Don't sell yourself short, inspector…" he offered thoughtfully. "You know as well as I do that you don't get anywhere in life without taking a few risks."

Marshall opened his mouth to respond to this, but at that moment his phone began going off in his pocket. Feeding Stan a sheepish look, he fished it out and glanced at the display. It only took one other pitiful peek to tell him that the missing member of their party of three waited on the other end. Despite his confusion, Marshall was grateful for the call. He was elated that Mary was well enough to leave the hospital.

"Hello?" his greeting came out slightly groggy, Stan still standing just feet away.

"Hey…" Mary's voice floated through. "You busy?"

She sounded neither thrilled nor depressed. He'd listened carefully for both, in case the doctors decided his partner was still too frail to return home. But, her voice was flat and fairly non-emotive. Marshall wondered what that might be about.

"Not really…" he answered honestly. "Are you in need of an escort?"

"I am actually," she confirmed with no alternation in her tone. "Do you have time to come and pick me up? I wanted to ask Jinx or Brandi but I think they're getting my house a little more invalid-friendly…"

Marshall managed a chortle, "I'm on my way. Don't overdo it or anything," he advised, picturing Mary throwing things into bags, and shoving her head into shirts in her desperation to be out.

"Yeah," was her simplistic response before she hung up without saying goodbye.

Bewildered, Marshall slipped his phone out of sight once more, glad he had a reason to evade Stan's suspicions for the time being. After all, was it really fair to confide in Stan before Mary herself? Surely not.

"I've gotta go grab Mary…" he explained, gesturing toward the double-doors. "She's being released. I guess they think she's well enough to be on her own."

Stan took the news at face value, also side-stepping the conversation that had almost begun. He cared for Mary as much as he cared for Marshall, and was equally happy she was on the road to recovery.

"That's really incredible…" he voiced admiringly, jaunting back toward his office to deposit his coffee cup in the sink. Marshall trailed behind him. "I can't believe she managed to bust out in under a week."

"Seven days exactly," Marshall corrected. "Counting today. When I think about how far she's come since then…"

He paused in thought, unsightly images flashing in his mind – Mary curled unconscious through a cloud of smoke. Mary motionless on the ground outside; being pricked with a needle; humiliated in front of strangers; cut open eight weeks too soon. Suffering contractions without accompanying labor; dealing with ex-husbands, anxious fathers, little girls, bad dreams, and fevers. She was a trooper. She was a pioneer. He adored her so, and his little break from the real world must've shown on his face. Stan had held on long enough.

"Marshall, you've gotta tell her."

He pretended his chief meant Abigail. It was very easy to pretend, and Marshall was very good at it. But, he knew better. He knew what Stan was really talking about. He just couldn't. He just didn't know how.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said swiftly. "Call me if something comes up."

Stan nodded slowly and allowed his inspector a quiet exit, thoroughly contemplating when this whirlwind that was Mary and Marshall was going to end.

XXX

**A/N: I know – there's like, nothing here! I hope the next one will pay off!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hopefully I make up for the shortness of the last chapter with this one!**

XXX

When Marshall arrived twenty minutes later in the maternity ward, it was to find Mary sitting on the bed she had so recently occupied, legs dangled toward the floor. She was bent over just a little, hand resting at the ready in her lap. She looked a little thinner to Marshall, wearing a pair of loose fitting pants and a baggy T-shirt from her younger years. He knew the rubbing still bothered her incision, and she exhausted easily from the trauma her lungs had suffered.

It was really her face that troubled him, though. Through the tiny window, she seemed lost and lonesome. He had expected her to be breaking down the door; she was so anxious to go home. But, she just sat there, fiddling with the bag sitting beside her, twisting her hands in her lap. There was no one else around, which meant her discharge papers had likely been filed. She was free to go.

Pushing through the door, he tried to appear all confidence, despite his vaguely unkempt appearance.

"So, I hear you're on the road back to civilization," he boomed passionately, shoving away everything Stan had tried to pound into him. "Your chariot awaits."

All his silly show earned him was a weak smile. What Marshall more and more considered, 'the old Mary' would've given him a lot of guff for such schmaltz. But, her smile faded quickly and without a word she moved to stand up, using the bed for support.

"Do you need a hand?" Marshall asked gallantly, but in his more natural voice as he stepped to her side and helped her ease slowly to her feet.

"No, I'm good…" she insisted once he already had her forearm. "Thanks," a shuffle as she grabbed her bag from the bed.

She wasn't looking at him. She was examining her nails – the walls, the floor – anything but him. When she could eventually stray nowhere else, those green eyes landed where they belonged. To Marshall's dismay, they looked anything but happy.

"Are you okay?" he asked. It was so nice to try and take care of her; to have her accept. "Do you not feel good; do you not feel like you can manage by yourself? Because, I can talk to somebody…"

"No, Marshall…" Mary cut him off with a tiny laugh, hand floating in his face to halt his words. "I'm fine. I feel fine. As fine as I'm going to feel at this point."

He nodded, waiting for the real reason she seemed so withdrawn and so far from her usual self, even with the alterations that had come about in the past week. She began to gnaw on her thumbnail absentmindedly, eyes on the door now. She sighed and Marshall could feel her weight sink in a little next to him. She was still not a hundred percent.

"I…" her voice came out hushed, even a little bit docile. "I…" another try. "I…I don't feel like I'm supposed to leave."

"Why not?" Marshall pressed immediately, although he was starting to clue in a bit. "You've been cleared. Doctor Schiff gave you the green light, didn't he?"

"Yeah…"

She shifted again, perplexing Marshall further. This softer, sweeter Mary wasn't one he was used to. Granted, she could still throw sarcasm better than anyone he knew, but her mindset had certainly changed since the fire. He wondered if any of it would stick around.

However, he had no time to consider; because Mary's real trepidation was about to revealed.

"Would they let me go to the NICU?" she looked at him now. "I mean, even though I'm not a patient anymore; I'm not running a fever. Am I allowed to just…?"

Marshall had-had a hunch, and his hands want to his sides to avoid patting her shoulder or her arm. He didn't want her to think he'd accepted this newfound image she was projecting if she didn't intend to stay that way. But, his partner's uncertainty had suddenly become perfectly clear. No wonder she didn't want to dash out right away.

"Of course you're allowed in," he told her gently. "You're a mother. We can stop and pay little missy a visit before bread and broth with Jinx."

Mary laughed for real this time, shoving her bag into Marshall's arms; her whole demeanor twenty times more relaxed.

"You've gotta quit calling her that," she teased, but Marshall wondered if perhaps she enjoyed it.

Mary was halfway to the door, fully ready now to leave this empty room behind, when he spotted the bowl of lilacs he'd brought on her third day. They were still on the food tray, but they had wilted; petals were beginning to drop off. Their purple was less blooming, and Marshall realized this a little too late.

"You forgot your…"

His eyes eventually took in the fact that the buds had expired and even though he had moved to pick them up, he backed off, Mary turning slowly from her post at the door to see what he was talking about. As he extracted his hand, he was surprised to see her looking somewhat disappointed.

"I'm sorry; they're dead…" she explained, although it was obvious by this point. "I killed them."

"You didn't kill them…" Marshall insisted, moving away and wondering why he thought she'd feel guilty about a silly vase of flowers; this was Mary they were talking about it. "Don't worry about it."

"Well yeah, but I should've…" she took pause as Marshall joined her at the door; she just wanted him to know she'd appreciated the gesture, even if his gift had withered away. "How hard can it be to keep a dumb plant alive?"

Marshall had a sudden inkling about where this analogy was headed, and decided to get her out of the room while they discussed it. He reached past her, tucking the bag under his arm, and twisted the handle to spill the pair of them out into the hall.

"Flowers do not exactly alert you when they're feeling parched," he hypothesized, seeing his friend up the corridor as they ambled along together. "I can think of a few other beings that would be more than happy to let you know when they need something."

Now Mary got it too, and had no desire to continue. "Come off it. You're such a dweeb," she quipped. "I am not as insecure as you make me out to be. You think I'm going to start bawling about flowers kicking the bucket because it feels like some sort of sign I can't take care of my child?"

Marshall shrugged; listening to Mary's shuffling steps on the linoleum.

"You've thought stranger things."

"Well, this isn't one of them," she claimed.

This might've been true, Marshall thought. But, Mary was a confident enough individual that she wouldn't doubt her abilities to parent too severely. It was more the other parts of motherhood; the less glamorous parts like where they were headed right now. He didn't know how Mary was going to fare with a baby that required so much attention – even more than the average child. She'd had such a hard time at the onset in knowing she was at a disadvantage with her premature problems. He didn't want such things to cloud her acceptance anymore.

They stayed quiet up until they made it to the door of the NICU, and Marshall saw Mary tense slightly. He knew, whatever her claims otherwise, that she worried she'd have no maternal side. Knowing _how_ to take care of the child wasn't the same as loving her.

"In we go…" Marshall sang brightly, thrusting the handle and side-stepping his partner so she could ease in carefully.

Mary was a little more prepared this time as the unit hummed with early morning activity. A few anxious parents lingered, but it was mainly nurses tending to the infants; giving morning bottles to babies the size of kittens. She well remembered where her daughter was stationed at the very back; her own little corner partially offset from everyone else. Mary wondered if that had been on purpose, and contemplated the thought as her feet took her there, Marshall not far behind.

Upon approaching the bed for only the second time, Mary half-hoped the little girl would appear bigger or stronger – more capable. She didn't; not really. She was still very frail and rather red-faced; she slept soundly in her tiny isolette with holes barely big enough for Mary to poke her fingers through. The same wires combed her body; miniscule tubes that went up her nose. The only difference was, there was no ventilation hose protruding from her throat. She wondered if this was a recent development.

Regardless of whatever she saw, Mary was determined and she took the chair Marshall offered her and stationed herself as close as possible. She speculated, vaguely, if Mark had been in here recently. As far as she knew, the only consistent face her child recognized these days was Marshall.

"I told you she's gaining on them…" the man himself proclaimed from above her. "She's put on a couple ounces in the last week."

So that made her – what? Three pounds four ounces? Five? She was not even halfway to another pound. Try as she might, Mary couldn't forget this fact, and it must've shown on her face.

"I know she's small, Mare…" Marshall conceded as the woman wiped sweaty palms on her pants. "She is. Kind of bite-sized. But, she'll get there. She really will."

Logic told Mary this must be true. She reflected on what Marshall had said when she'd first woken up in the hospital – that the baby needed to finish all the growing she was supposed to do while Mary had been pregnant. It took time. Just a lot of time.

"Recreating the womb is tricky business," he finished when Mary didn't respond.

She satisfied this bizarre statement with a nod, just trying to feel at one with this kid the way she was supposed to. She did not feel as upset as she had the first time; she was fairly sure of that. But, it was even harder than she'd anticipated trying to bridge this gap. Her daughter seemed so far away in her cubicle. Was this really the same little girl they'd taken from her uterus? The reason Mary had such a throbbing in her belly?

Marshall watched his best friend, a little vacant and out-of-her-element, and decided to pull up another chair. Mary stirred slightly at the sound of the scraping amongst the beeping monitors, but didn't turn to face him. One thing was on her mind. Marshall, so often able to read her innermost thoughts, had an idea of what it might be.

"Mary…" he murmured lightly, not as a question but as a greeting. "Touch her."

_This_ earned him a glance. And narrowed eyebrows to boot.

"What?"

"Touch her," he repeated with an inviting wave of his hand. "She's yours; you're her mother. A week ago she was still inside you," he pressed on. "Trust me. She'll know who you are."

Mary severely doubted this. It didn't seem possible. She'd never once showed any sign of affection toward pregnancy or the creature growing within. She hadn't even taken care of herself, or heeded doctor's orders the way she should have. Whatever connection Marshall was banking on; she wasn't sure it existed.

Nonetheless, her fingers had a mission all their own. They edged themselves through the empty space and onto the head of this plugging little girl. The holes were actually bigger than she realized, and her whole hand fit inside, resting on the knit. The hat was soft. It was a bit big for her, but it concealed her crown nicely.

"Her skin…" Marshall wasn't fulfilled. "Touch her skin," he implored eagerly.

And without waiting for approval, he actually reached out and nudged Mary's wrist a fraction of an inch so the pads of her fingers brushed the child's cheek. Only, brushing wasn't enough. That first stroke of flesh was magical; it was as though someone had lit a stick of dynamite in Mary's heart. There was a ruckus going off inside her, and its force made her palm sink down completely.

Her hand sat there cupping the cheek, feeling a pulse that was likely a machine but which felt like her daughter's beating heart. And miraculously, the minute she thought as much, the baby cooed behind her perfectly closed mouth. This was more than enough for Mary, until the coo was accompanied by a shift. How a being so small could curl so dramatically was a mystery to the new mother, but that beautiful face found the hand not by sight, but by touch and nestled in. She'd sensed the shelter from the storm and found it.

Mary did not even care that Marshall could see her. She smiled as her finger began to trace the patterns on her baby's face.

"Hey missy…" she whispered, Marshall's goofy nickname the only thing that penetrated.

But he was beaming as well, crouching in beside her to get a better look.

"Mama's back…" he insisted sweetly, and Mary didn't miss the way his eyes lit up around this child. "Been looking for her, haven't you?"

"She's softer than that hat…" was Mary's ludicrous response, and Marshall chuckled.

At that moment, laugher ringing pleasantly, one of the many nurses approached their station. Mary was concerned that it was time for her to be fed, or evaluated, and that they would have to leave. But when she glanced up, the nurse wore features merely lined with curiosity and a hint of a grin. She was young; maybe early thirties, with short dark hair and big brown eyes.

"Are you…Miss Shannon?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah…" Mary replied, keeping her hand where it so desperately wanted to stay.

The nurse's smile became entirely prevalent as Mary confirmed her identity, although she remained puzzled until the next round of explanations.

"I'm Nina," she introduced herself. "We've been waiting for you to be well enough to come and see the baby…" she revealed enthusiastically, a thought that thoroughly shocked Mary. "We've been getting updates between Doctor Schiff and Doctor Wells – he's the one who's been looking in on her…" she indicated the child. "But we weren't sure when you'd get a chance to come down. You're feeling better, then?"

"Uh…yeah…" was all Mary could say, as the anticipation for her arrival suddenly seemed overwhelming. "Going home, actually."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" the nurse proclaimed with ample excitement. "If you want, we can try and set up a quick visit with Doctor Wells so you can get some details on your little one…" she prattled on. "I understand Marshall's been filling you in…"

Mary whirled around to face her partner, who smiled sheepishly. It had been a bit messy as of late with the medical professionals; trying to keep Marshall in the loop, but then adding Mark to the mix. Fortunately, they'd been accommodating and nobody seemed to have asked Mark outright who he was. They both looked like they were getting admittance for now, although judging by this nurse's comments; it was a widespread belief Mary and Marshall were the couple here.

"Yeah, he has…" she finally said. "But, it would be nice to get a prognosis, I guess…"

"Doctor Wells will be in this afternoon," Nina still seemed to be shining. "I'll have someone give you a call."

Mary nodded and expressed her thanks, but had little time to get out any gratitude because their newest companion was on to bigger and better things. It appeared to Mary that she saw the mother's lack-of-presence in the NICU as something truly dreadful; that it was something most mothers would hardly stand for. Now that she was here, it seemed lost time was about to be made up. Mary began to feel grateful she had-had the excuse of being so unwell as a means to explain not visiting. Her aversion likely would've been looked upon as strange.

"Would one of you like to hold her?" Nina asked. "I know you haven't had a chance yet, but we fed her cradle-style last night and she did really well."

All thoughts of this frighteningly positive individual were forgotten. The first thought Mary had was fear – she could drop her, she could hurt her; she might cry or scream; her vitals could go haywire. She was just so tiny. But, all of that washed aside very quickly. If touching her face was this good, how fabulous might actually holding her be?

Immediately though, she turned to Marshall. He nodded eagerly, trying to urge her along, but she had a different idea.

"Why don't you go first?"

She could tell by the look on his face that he was moved. His eyes softened and his smile turned far more sympathetic. He reached out and squeezed her knee before speaking.

"That's awfully generous of you," he whispered while Nina began to dismantle the contraption to which the baby was confined. "But, I couldn't possibly. Not the first time. Unless you _really_ want me to."

He looked skeptical on this at best, and he was right. Mary had wanted to show him how appreciative she was of how he'd looked out for her daughter, not to mention going through the train wreck she'd experienced, but she really didn't want to give up this moment. Having him here was enough, and he could teach her; tell if she did it wrong. Surely he would know. He knew everything.

With this, she nodded; "Okay…" it came out very soft.

Marshall signaled his approval as their perky nurse cautiously lifted the tiny body of Baby Girl Shannon from the blankets she had so recently occupied. Mary nudged herself a little further forward on her chair and held out her arms, waiting for that weedy torso to be amongst her once more.

"She's a fighter, this one…" Nina decided as she lowered her into the crook of her mother's arms. "She keeps churning along; we haven't had any hiccups other than trying to get her lungs to catch up."

But Mary wasn't listening anymore. She was too wrapped up in the feel of her baby's head snuggled right in the bend of her elbow. Too captivated by the way she fit so perfectly in her homemade cradle. There were wrinkles in her skin; her eyelashes were fluttering as she tried to blink and could not. Her fingernails were barely the size of a grain of salt. But, instead of viewing all of this as a weakness, Mary suddenly found it faultless. It was who she was. She was warmth and light and sunshine; all three pounds of her.

"Like mother, like daughter," Marshall was saying in response to the comment about her lungs, and with a simple wave of his hand he was able to bid their nurse farewell.

It was only in her peripheral vision that Mary could see Marshall grinning proudly at her elbow. He even reached out to fix her hat, which had been knocked askew, and to adjust the blankets that had come from the isolette.

"You look good with a kid," he decided. "A natural if ever I saw one."

Mary didn't know about that, but she knew she was enjoying herself. All of her mixed emotions from the past week were gone. She had been missing a piece of herself – a piece of her heart. Now that they were one again, it was as though nothing had been out-of-sync at all.

"Hey girly…" she tried a different approach than before, running the hand that was not supporting the baby's head along her belly. "I guess you're pretty feisty, considering what a little bit of a thing you are."

She _was_ miniscule. Mary still couldn't wrap her brain around it.

"This may not be the _best_ time…" Marshall interjected, reveling in the sweet whimpers that sounded from the tiny one's mouth. "But have you had any thoughts on names since making the _big decision_?" he altered his tone to sound theatrical at the end, to show he was teasing.

Mary hadn't; hardly at all. Since she hadn't planned on keeping the baby in the first place, names had never factored in. She'd never been one to gush over those she particularly liked; she'd been named after the Virgin Mary, and God only knew where Brandi's title had come from. Her parents hadn't exactly broken out the big books; not when they came with monikers like 'Jinx.'

"Well, if you had your way we'd just call her little missy and have done with it," Mary groused to avoid the subject. "Too bad it isn't that simple," now _she_ began to fiddle with the hat and blankets.

"I did have _some_ on my mind outside of something so generic," he informed her. "But it's not up to me."

"Still though…" Mary needed some suggestions. "Give 'em to me straight. Just be sure to leave out the foreign or trendy ones. She's not gonna be walking around with something French or off one of those daytime shows I've gotten so sick of."

Marshall laughed at this, and the more he watched his partner with the little girl, the more he realized she really did need something to call her own. A name would make her official; it would make the whole thing that much more real – for him and for Mary. Of course, whatever they cooked up they would have to share with Mark, but he was a pretty easygoing guy. As long as it was fairly neutral, he would probably be all right with anything.

"I admit I do like the M theme…" he conceded. "Between you, me, and Mark, we've got quite a trifecta going. Only fair to keep up the tradition."

He wasn't sure Mary would approve of this, but she merely nodded and let him continue.

"Shall I delve into specifics?" he ventured.

"While I'm young, doofus," she couldn't lift her eyes from the baby. "Go for it."

After that, it was like a ping-pong match. Marshall should've seen it coming – should've known she'd have issues with every title he offered up, especially when they all started with the same letter. He feared they would have to switch it up if she didn't cave soon.

"Marie…"

"Nuh-uh…"

"Megan…"

"She'd be like one of twenty-six in her high school – all spelled differently…"

"Margaret…"

"Too long…"

"Mabel…"

"She's not a hundred!"

"Marley?"

"That's a boy's name…"

"Madison…"

"Again with the repetition…"

Then it picked up. Marshall became impatient. He never should've tried to go through this with Mary. She'd pick her own without any help from him.

"Michaela; Macy; Mackenzie…"

"No-no and no…"

"Then that leaves Mallory or Melissa or Molly on my list," he threw up his hands five minutes later; the unnamed still fast asleep. "Unless you want to make it easy and go with Mary Junior."

He expected her to refute this at once, to make a spectacular show of what a horrible idea this was, but she seemed to be thinking. He was still annoyed for having spewed an entire inventory of which she did not approve, and didn't entirely notice the way her brows crept together in concentration.

"What was that one?"

Marshall took pause, "Not Mary Junior."

"No!" she snapped before bringing her voice down to be respectful of the other parents, not to mention infants. "Before that."

"Mallory?"

"After that."

He wracked his brain. He shut his eyes. He went over it again until he found it.

"Melissa?"

The pair of them – they were forever, consistently and constantly of one mind. Mary looked at the baby. Marshall looked at the baby. Their eyes found each other. The words and phrases; the realization sped to the forefront; it was just a matter of who put the pieces together first. It was going to be a tough call, and it was satisfied grins that spread across their faces before the winner spilled out.

It was in unison. It was as one.

"Missy."

XXX

**A/N: Was I clever, or is it too cheesy? I hope it's the former!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Home again, home again!**

XXX

Mary wasn't sure how she felt about returning home and leaving Melissa in the NICU, not knowing about her timeline and how long it would be until she could come along. Marshall predicted she would at least have to stretch as far as Mary's original due date, putting her in the Shannon house at the end of September. That was over a month, and Mary felt tired just thinking about it.

The car ride was no picnic either. She had to sit higher in her seat so the belt wouldn't rub on her staples, and this took extra stretching muscles she hadn't used in a week. Marshall thought she looked worn-out when they pulled up at the house, however content she might be with the idea of sleeping in her own bed.

"I'm sure Jinx and her brood have already gotten out the paper streamers…" she forecasted churlishly, waiting for Marshall with a scowl when he stepped around the side of the SUV to help her out. "Please. As if I need confetti."

"Who knows?" Marshall shrugged and kept pace with his partner as she walked rather duck-footed toward the door. "Maybe they'll surprise you in the way you traditionally prefer a surprise – that being of the non-jump-out-and-yell variety."

Mary really had to wade through that sentence to understand what he meant, but when he unlocked her door, it appeared he was right. There was nobody waiting to leap up in her face. There were no decorations or gaudy signs. She could hear voices and knew at least a portion of her family was around since their cars were in the drive. But, she didn't get the impression the voices were hushed because they were waiting for her entrance. It sounded like talking – just talking.

Jinx – or someone – had tidied up a bit, but otherwise the house was exactly as Mary had left it when she'd gone to the grade school seven days before. She wondered, dimly, if that ice cream was still in the freezer, or if the fruit had gone bad.

She noticed at once that a party of four was sitting at her kitchen table – Jinx, Brandi, Peter, and Mark. Mark was eating out of a bag of chips. Jinx was sipping a glass of water. Brandi was hanging all over Peter as usual. They hadn't even heard her come in, although she did amble around a bit quieter these days.

It became obvious she was going to have to make her presence known.

"Hello…?" she sounded a bit unaware of her surroundings, but it didn't last long.

The four of them looked up like they'd just seen a dinosaur set foot in the living room; all decorum forgotten. There was scraping of chairs, snacks shoved aside, and beaming smiles; all so they could get close to her.

"Mary, honey!" Jinx shrieked benevolently. "You're home!"

Mary saw at once it was no use fighting them. Marshall stepped back and let them all have free reign, but it was going to be a tough job prying Jinx away, who got there first.

"It's so good to see you, angel…" she put both hands to her daughter's cheeks and kissed her about six times. "So good to see you up and around. You must be so glad to be out of that hospital…" she assumed between several more smacks.

"Yeah, I suppose…" Mary admitted, somehow finding it in her to return the favor and give Jinx a quick, one-armed hug that would not squash her sutures. She recalled very vividly how much she had longed for Jinx in her darkest hour, and it hadn't completely vanished. "I'm glad you're here mom. Thanks for picking up."

Jinx positively shone with delight at these words, and it gave Brandi half a second to butt in, quite literally. She knocked Jinx aside with her hip and took her own turn embracing her sister, even fingering her hair at the back of her neck.

"You look great, Mare…" she insisted. "You really do."

"Unbelievable," Mark chimed in as usual.

"You're all really pushing it," Mary informed them, but she said it with less acidity than she would've done ordinarily, knowing how charitable such words were. She missed her jeans and her blazer, even knowing how uncomfortable they'd be. She felt like she'd gone for a ride in her pajamas. "I look like I just rolled out of bed."

"Well, if only all of us could look that amazing just rolling out of bed…" Peter piped up, which earned him a playful smack on the arm from Brandi.

"How are you feeling sweetheart?" Jinx pressed before Mary could interject with another comment. "I'm sure you're tired…" she twirled a strand of her daughter's hair lovingly as she guessed.

"I'm…I'm okay…" Mary nodded, wishing they would all back up just a little. She was beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic. "My stomach is pretty sore…"

"Do you need anything?" Brandi jumped at the opportunity without preamble. "I can get it."

Mary just gaped soundlessly for a moment. She knew they were trying to help, and some weird part of herself she hadn't known existed did appreciate it. But, she was starting to feel rather plagued with concerns at the moment. Now that she was here, what was she really supposed to _do_? Her daughter wasn't with her as was customary. She couldn't go to work, because running or firing her gun was completely out of the question until she could start getting in better shape. Both options were depressing, and her current condition didn't give her the best poker face.

"Little bit overwhelming right now…" Marshall opted to explain casually. "We haven't really gotten an ETA on the baby yet, so there are still a couple more steps."

Mary was grateful he'd begun the conversation. Now she felt more able to continue.

"I saw her this morning…" she whispered, feeling a calm rush over her just thinking about it. "They said she was strong enough I could hold her, so…"

Marshall's steady demeanor had no effect on the group, at least not on Jinx, Brandi, or even Mark it seemed. Peter was the only one who backed off, but then again he wasn't a woman, nor was he this baby's father.

"You _held_ her?" Brandi squealed girlishly. "That's so exciting! Oh, I can't wait until I can hold her!"

So typical Brandi.

"Is she doing all right, honey?" Jinx's initial enthusiasm did abate marginally. "You seem kind of upset."

"I saw her yesterday; she looked fine to me…" Mark offered, which should've been a relief to everyone.

"Yeah, she's good…" Mary insisted. "I just, um…"

She wanted to sit down. Her muscles were feeling cramped from having stood for so long. Her incision was beginning to burn and she could feel the shortness of breath coming on that she'd been told to watch out for. All of this irritated her and absurdly made her want to cry. Her family cared so much about Melissa, but not having her here was agonizing. Would any of them understand that?

"She's just…" her throat had gone dry. "She just may have to stay in the hospital…a little longer," she forced a weak smile so nobody would worry, falling back on Marshall's hypothesis from earlier. "We're not sure yet."

"Nothing is definite," her partner assisted kindly.

This led to a gaggle of nodding from the group, but mention of her daughter made for a good segue. Now was as good a time as any to have a few words with Mark about his plans as well as the fact that his child had pretty much been given a name.

"Yeah…" Mary breathed as well as she could, trying not to start a round of coughing the first five minutes through the door. "Actually, Mark – do you mind if I talk to you for a second? Just, a couple things to iron out."

He was as agreeable as ever, "Sure."

The rest of the crew dispersed at the mention, Jinx babbling about how she'd fetch some water and snacks if Mary was feeling hungry (she wasn't.) Brandi even jabbered about extra pillows and blankets while Marshall herded them all politely into the kitchen and away from the conversation. Mary was glad he would be there to run interference so she could talk to Mark by himself.

Like everybody else, he couldn't resist the opportunity to try and attach himself to her ailing form. He had a hand on her arm the minute he realized she might need it, but she'd already seated herself on the couch. With something of an embarrassed grin, Mark replaced his fingers to his lap, ready to listen.

"What's up?" he asked before Mary could even get started. "This about the baby?"

"Well, kind of…" Mary admitted. "I mean, you shouldn't worry or anything," she was quick to clarify. "Everybody seems to think she's gonna be fine; it'll just be a couple more weeks 'till she's able to come home…"

"I thought that might happen," Mark shrugged. "You were thirty-two weeks when you delivered, right?"

"Yeah…" Mary agreed. "So I guess she's only at thirty-three now," she didn't need to stay on this subject for long. "Have you figured anything out…?" she jumped in before Mark could respond another time. "I mean; whether you'll be able to come out here or not…?"

"I'll definitely be here," he answered with absolutely no hesitation. "Peter even said he could set me up with something at the dealership until I can get the solar panel business going."

Mary had found such a prospect annoying almost a year before, but now it was as good a solution as any. It was amazing, the way she could look at Mark in an entirely different light now that he was a father. He needed a job, no matter what the job was. And while she might've had some issues with the man, she was not a fan of him living across the country from his child. She knew better than anyone about how much little girls needed their daddies.

"You line up a place already?" was her only response to his plan.

"Possibly," another shrug; completely aloof. "There are some duplexes a little outside the city. That way I won't be right on top of you…" he winked boyishly and Mary was forced to roll her eyes at the double entendre.

"You gonna grow up one of these days?" she retorted. "Because I would pay to see that."

"Call me crazy…" he held up his hands in defeat. "But I think I kind of had to this week."

Mary couldn't deny him claims on that; both of them had been forced to 'man-up' either completely out-of-the-blue or at least unexpectedly. But, she had no time to dwell on his jab because he wasn't about to let her forget why she'd called him over in the first place.

"And, I thought you said our little one-on-one here had to do with the kid…" he gestured up and down her frame to get her going. "What's the deal?"

Mary wondered if he would be angry. Mark didn't really do 'angry' very well, but she imagined she'd given him a run for his money this week. He'd been so tolerant about everything she'd doled out. This really qualified on a much smaller scale, but it could be the straw that broke the camel's back. She really didn't know.

"I've just…" she sighed; it was nice to have been able to take a seat, but it was still irritating how tired she was. "I've had a thought on a name. And, I hope you like it," a swallow.

She wanted to add, 'Tough luck if you don't,' but she didn't. That would not be overly tactful, and in the back of her mind Mary began to wonder why she was even bothering with tact. Such a thing never even used to be on her radar.

"What if I hate it?" Mark asked, but Mary could tell he was teasing and she fed him fatigued eyes to show him just how much she wanted this. Mark would understand. He usually did, and he proved it with his next words. "What am I gonna be shouting when my daughter crosses the street without looking?" he sighed over-dramatically and grinned.

Mary had to stop herself from smiling back at his undeniable charm. There were some things he never lost, even if they didn't have near the effect on her that they used to.

"Melissa?" she bit her nail without thinking; a nervous habit. "Missy."

Mark nodded thoughtfully. He didn't even take a moment to consider. Seriously; he was more lenient than anybody Mary had ever met. It was both endearing and frightening.

"Works for me," he claimed. "'Missy, get inside!' 'Missy, eat your dinner!'" he hollered playfully. "Perfect for giving her what for."

It wasn't exactly what Mary had-had in mind, but she was just glad Mark had taken to the idea. She had been willing to fight hard for it, even knowing she shouldn't have gotten attached without discussing it with him first. Then again, he knew how she was, which was stubborn and steadfast. As long as it wasn't anything too quirky, she could've guessed he'd be sold.

"If you say so…" was her only response. "But, thanks."

"Sure," he said again. "You mind if I take a crack at the middle name?"

This seemed a good compromise, "Knock yourself out."

"I'll let you know."

And with that, Mark patted her knee and stood up, seemingly finished with something he had seemed to find very simplistic. Mary wondered sometimes how the pair of them had ever ended up together, let alone found each other so attractive when they were so different. Mark was forever breezy; going with the flow and never stopping to be concerned. Mary was constantly on-edge and waiting for the next bomb to drop. She could figure out what it was she liked about her ex, but was hard-pressed to discover why _he_ had _ever_ desired _her_.

"I better check on Jinx and Brandi," he decided once he was upright. "They may be attempting to cook…" he wrinkled his nose. "I can't be too sure that won't land you back in the hospital."

Mary laughed, unable to help herself, and let him go on his merry way. She felt a glimmer of relief at knowing he had accepted her choice regarding Melissa. She found herself contemplating whether he had been so agreeable because she'd been – she shuddered at the thought – _nice_ to him. She hadn't hurled ultimatums and stipulations. Did that approach actually work on occasion?

She was still thinking about all this when Marshall rejoined her, sitting gently in the spot Mark had just left.

And looking at him, perched there with his weary but sweet blue eyes, her rush of affection grew tenfold. Since her ordeal, she'd pondered more and more why people she treated so poorly stuck with her, but Marshall was in a class by himself. No matter how snappy she got, no matter how boorish her personality, no matter how cruel or insensitive she was he never left her side. As Stan had said, he would die for her.

"So, how'd the name game go?" he asked. It sounded so unimportant given everything Mary had rattling around in her brain.

She gulped hard so he wouldn't know, "Good. Fine," a nod to reinforce it. "Mark's cool."

But, Marshall didn't entirely care. His musings were full to brim, and he was quite possibly going to run out of room very soon. Stan was right; he had to tell Mary how he felt no matter what the consequences. He'd waited too long and if there was no reciprocation, she deserved to start fresh without _this_ dwelling on her head.

He would do it. He would. He'd take the day and come back. Tonight.

"That's great," he replied to cover, trying to get his mind back on Melissa. "I know you would've hated to change. I could tell how much you loved the name."

It _was_ ideal, Mary thought. She did love it. But not nearly as much as she loved the man who'd given it to her.

XXX

**A/N: My heart still belongs to all of you for reviewing, even though I am certain I am driving you nuts making you wait with each passing chapter! You're troopers; no doubt about it!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: You all have been so patient – and it's finally here! :D**

XXX

Marshall was strangely calm when he approached Mary's door that evening. He found himself mulling over how that could possibly be, if he really intended to go through with his plan of having a serious discussion about feelings. Maybe his even tide came from cowardice; maybe he didn't plan to say anything at all. Lord knew he hadn't really thought it out. Making it up as he went didn't seem the best option, but it was all he had right now.

He could start with breaking up with Abigail and work his way forward if the opportunity presented itself. There was no law saying he _had_ to go further tonight. He'd placed that stipulation on himself. He'd feel her out first. He could always back away if he sensed her being completely panicked at the mere mention, which was a distinct possibility. He had every process in place so he didn't end up the lame sitting duck.

He wouldn't lose her. He wouldn't. He was a smart man. He could prevent it at all costs. Loving from afar wasn't so bad. He'd managed for eight years. He'd manage for many more if it meant Mary – and now Melissa – stayed in his life.

_Nothing to be nervous about_, Marshall thought.

His hand knocked of its own accord, but he only got through half-a-tap before realizing he didn't really want Mary to have to get up and come to the door in her state. Testing the knob, he turned it cautiously to see if the hatch was open to allow him admittance.

Luck was on his side at least for starters. The living room had a faint hush to it, seemingly glowing with the darkness that had fallen outdoors. Marshall was almost sorry to shut out the ticking of the cicadas and shimmering lightning bugs. It brought a feeling of tranquility to his soul, but he knew he was going to have do part of this without the creatures of the forest.

He could only see a portion of Mary. She was lying on the couch with a blanket, her head cushioned inside a pillow from her bed. He could tell she was looking at something where she was stationed on her side, but had no idea what.

He started casual as he ventured in, shutting the door quietly in his wake.

"Good evening…" he intoned in a low voice.

Her eyes flicked upward over the armrest; "Hey…" she had to crane her neck and eventually decided it wasn't worth the effort. "You didn't tell me you'd be breaking and entering."

"You know me…" he mused, strutting to the opposite end of the sofa and lightly lifting her legs so he could sit down. "I like to give a little to the office gossip. Nobody's ever heard the one about the US Marshal who snuck into his partner's house."

"Mmm…" Mary gave him a tiny smile before yawning widely, allowing her feet to relax into his lap.

It caught up with him at the oddest moments sometimes; attraction or no attraction, the pair of them really had come a very long way since the fire. Mary had transformed in so many different ways; more and more Marshall was starting to believe they might be permanent now that Melissa was going to be taking up residence.

"How are you feeling?" he asked without thinking.

"Seems to be the million dollar question," Mary replied. "I just got rid of Jinx and her hovering about two hours ago."

"I see…" Marshall supplied. "You don't look _too_ bad," he teased with a polite nod of his head.

Mary shrugged, adjusting the blanket around her middle before answering, "I'm just tired…" and she had to stifle another yawn even as she said it. "Which is insane, because I've never sat still in this home for such an extended period of time. I noticed shit today I haven't seen since I moved in five years ago. That's how bored I was."

"Bored enough to engage in some light reading?" Marshall prompted, noticing that she had a stack of papers on her lap. There was a black tin with red striping on the coffee table; it look old and rather banged up. "What're you looking at?"

To his surprise, she turned suddenly evasive – almost shy. Her eyes fell to her fingers holding the paper; index and thumb rubbing the parchment. There was an attempt at a shrug, but it didn't go over with Marshall very well. He couldn't imagine what she had out that would produce this kind of a reaction, but now he was curious.

"What?"

Shaking her head. Once, twice, several more times. Another shrug. Finally, there was a resigned sigh and she groped blindly for the tin on the coffee table. Pawing through it, she fisted a few items out; with a reminiscent gleam in her eye, she handed only one over.

"Little moppet in that picture look familiar?"

Marshall let the slick film pass slowly from Mary's fingers into his, turning it right-side up so he could get a good view. Grinning back at him from an empty playpen on the floor was a baby girl with tufty blonde hair; there were uneven patches that stuck up in the back. Her sneaky smile was toothless, but it couldn't have been more drawn in delight. Something was on her mind, from the pale blue shirt to the flowered pants she wore.

"Is this you?" Marshall inquired, but couldn't imagine who else it might be. He knew that smile.

"Yup," Mary confirmed. "About six months old, give or take. Jinx and daddy weren't exactly experts at keeping their photos up-to-date."

Upon closer inspection, Marshall saw that the child in the photo bore a very strong resemblance to the one chugging along in the NICU. He extended a finger and traced the outline, imagining the mirror images of the young Mary and her daughter. It wasn't the eyes or the hair, as Melissa didn't possess the latter and they'd yet to see the former. It was the shape of her face; the strong cheekbones. And, just _something_. Something too hard to describe.

"You can see Missy in here…" he waggled the Polaroid for evidence. "She's a Shannon, all right."

Marshall had thought this might please Mary, at least on some level, but it only seemed to dampen her mood. The thing was, it didn't manifest in the usual way her downtrodden attitudes did – with a plethora of sarcasm. It was making her reflective and quiet. Marshall wasn't sure which he preferred, and before he could ask, she had fed him another stack of pictures to look through without another word.

It became clear with each passing face where the glumness had come from.

Mary and James curled up in a chair with the stuffing coming out. Mary and James standing in a driveway beside a very beaten-down pickup truck. Mary and James on the front lawn; the little girl in a snow white dress with her hair pinned to one side. Jinx lingered in a few places; baby Brandi even made an appearance now and again. But, there was no denying the premise now.

"I'm sensing a theme, here…" Marshall eventually murmured. He just wasn't sure why, and raised befuddled brows to meet her weary face, reason for the visit momentarily forgotten. "Why do you have these out, Mare?"

He hadn't meant to embarrass her, but it was clear he had. She couldn't hide the pink in her cheeks.

"I don't know…" she whispered. "It's stupid…" and she reached out her hand to take them back, but Marshall swiped them against his chest.

"It isn't," he insisted definitively. "That isn't what I meant. I was just asking."

The longer he looked at her, the more he realized that the remains in her lap were probably not pictures. He'd always suspected Mary had-had at least a marginal amount of contact with her father; that was why she held out hope that he would return one day. But, if those fragments in her lap were letters, he wondered why she'd shut herself in far enough to not share them with him.

This quickly became the least of his worries, though. Having to answer was upsetting his friend. Her voice went foggy, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"I miss him…" she confessed in a voice so hushed it was difficult to understand.

"Mary, don't…" guilt came quickly and he made to return the photos. "Honestly, I'm sorry…"

It made no difference, "I really miss him. And, why? Why now? What for? I don't know what's got me so hung up on this."

She ran a finger under her nose to keep it from dripping and brushed at her eyes even though no tears had fallen.

"Well, you just had a baby…" Marshall offered diplomatically. "Becoming a parent might have something to do with it."

"I guess…" she might've surprised him by agreeing. "It kind of scares me, though. I mean, I was _nuts_ about him when I was a kid. If I thought _that_ was good parenting…" she wagged her head side-to-side again. "Somebody should be hoarding Melissa."

Marshall decided not to address the fact that Mary had only been seven years old when she'd gotten her first taste of parenting, and her judgment had certainly improved since then. It wouldn't do anything for her; she wasn't so delicate that she needed to be placated in that way. Instead, he zeroed in on another part of her statement. She so rarely spoke about her father, and it seemed that now might be the best time for questions.

Even if he was just stalling.

Cocking his head, Marshall probed vigilantly, "What made him so much larger than life to you? What was your favorite thing about him?"

Mary recalled Brandi asking something similar not long ago. She'd answered that James' tickles and teases had been her fondest memories. But, when she really stopped to consider, those times had been rare – few and far between. She'd recreated them for her sister as a means to help _herself_ remember.

No, those 'larger than life' feelings stemmed from something deeper; something that ran far more frequently. It might not have been worth a damn thing, but Mary had hung on hard from the very beginning.

Trying to get it out in any way that was poetic wasn't easy. Mary knew Marshall would've done a much better job being lyrical, but she went with what she knew.

"He thought I was special…" she whispered, a magical quality to her voice. "Nobody _ever_ treated me like I was special – not Jinx. I mean, not _then_…" she was careful to alter to past-tense when talking about her mother. "At school, I was just another kid, and then I was this domineering little sass that nobody liked…" she swallowed, hand roving where her stitches were beneath the blanket. "I faded into the woodwork. Jinx had more important things to figure out, especially once Brandi came along…"

Marshall was watching more than listening now. He'd never seen Mary's eyes take on this type of nostalgic quality. Though she knew her father was far from perfect, it was hard to put that image away. Seven was so young, after all.

"But, with daddy…" she wasn't done, and her partner distinctly saw her eyes journey to the photos now on the coffee table. "There was no one else in the world but me. He used to tell me I was everything to him; that the whole universe could melt away, and as long as we had each other nothing else mattered…"

Nice sentiment from a run-away, Marshall thought. It was no wonder Mary had been hurt. He knew, just from knowing Mary – altered or otherwise – that sharing this much with him was not customary. She was in very deep. She'd been thinking hard.

But, it seemed her memories had-had more effect on her than even she had anticipated. With the final phrase, the story took a turn for the worst. Those droplets that had been threatening to fall couldn't be held in for much longer. Marshall could tell by how heavily she'd started to breathe; her hand was fluttering without direction now. She didn't know where to go or what to do, stuck here on the couch.

"But, he didn't even mean it…" she murmured miserably. "I mean, since he left the only person who's even come close to making me feel…"

Marshall was so busy reveling in Mary's opening up that he didn't entirely register where her sentence was headed. It was upon him before he could catch up, before he could run in waving both arms for her to stop. It came so quickly; there was no warning and no preamble. How could he possibly respond to what came pouring out next?

She'd said something. Something that sounded like, "Is you" on the end of her run-on, but she was going much too fast now. She had to slow-down. He hadn't expected this. He couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Marshall, before I collapsed in the school I told myself I would never take you for granted again…" this was so un-Mary-like, it was startling. "Not like my dad with me and my mom and Brandi – that's probably why I remembered him leaving before it happened…"

Marshall didn't grasp the last part, but it was the first bit that caught his attention, and he was suddenly extending a hand to her outstretched legs, telling her it was unnecessary.

"You're being much too hard on yourself…"

"No, I'm not!" she wasn't really yelling, but the urgency in her voice indicated she was very serious. Her eyes had gone wild; it made her look more worn and tattered when she was so sleepy. "I was afraid I was never going to see you again…"

"But, that's not what happened…" he wanted her to calm down, and rubbed her knee as he arched his back over her form.

"I had to tell myself you'd show up…" tears were streaming down her face, and it had Marshall very troubled; she'd only been home a day.

"And, I did…" he reassured her; he was the master of doing so. "I did. You're here; you're fine…"

"But, I don't know what I would've done…"

_You wouldn't be here to tell about it_, Marshall told himself with a shiver.

"Mary, discussing this is moot…" he promised affectionately, squashing that painful thought that had invaded his mind. "I _did_ find you, so…"

"_Why_?"

Their frantic byplay came to a screeching halt with just a single, simple word. Marshall sat, suspended there with his hand on Mary's leg, watching her go breathless and rosy-cheeked with all the emotion spilling out from within. It was what one would consider such an easy question, and yet Marshall didn't understand it in the least. Try as he might, he didn't have the faintest idea why she would doubt something so monumental.

"Why?" he repeated incredulously, raising his voice unintentionally. "Because you're my partner! Because…"

_Say it! Say it!_

But, he couldn't. He couldn't get the message to his brain, let alone his mouth. He tried, but the words would not come. There was only a fraction of a second where he even considered it, but the buffer and the wall flew forward and he was knocked to the ground once more.

"Because you're my best friend," he covered extremely well. "How can you even ask me that, Mary? I mean, you know that I…" a swallow. "That I…"

He was so close. So very-very close, and at this point he didn't know if it even mattered. He'd missed the opportunity for it to mean more than it did right now. Calling them 'friends' meant he was throwing in the towel. She wouldn't get it.

"Please don't cry…" he softened his voice, convinced of the fact that this was not going to happen; she was too strung out. "Listen to me…"

Marshall didn't even know what she was supposed to listen to, but Mary was shaking her head now as he slowly took up her hand. He held it very firmly in his, guiding his free palm to her cheek, patting lightly as a means to comfort.

He was just working out a way to tell her she was not to worry about him coming in after her; that was what partners were for. But, that was when it happened. Her waterlogged eyes rose upward, and the saddest confession he had ever heard trickled from her beautiful, tearstained face.

"What…?" he said it so quietly she didn't hear.

She didn't hear because she was speaking. Speaking what Marshall could not.

"I love you."

Surely he was not hearing right either. They were both overemotional. They both had far too much on their minds. Neither could be trusted to comprehend the other. He had picked up the wrong words. He'd imagined she had said them because he'd been thinking them. That was all.

Surely.

Marshall blinked as slowly as he could. He made sure Mary was looking at him. She was. Her lip was quivering, but she was looking at him. They were still holding hands; Marshall perched absurdly over her legs to reach her face. His free hand just lay suspended there on the flesh, as though he'd reached up to catch the utterances he hadn't perceived.

"I'm…I'm sorry?" he eventually managed croakily.

This earned him a long, loud exhale that sounded hazy because of the tears. Her eyes even rolled, but it was with exhaustion and not exasperation – not entirely. But, when they cascaded skyward, she shook her head, forcing Marshall's hand to fall back to his lap. The hand that was not clutching hers.

"Are you seriously going to make me say it again?"

He had never heard Mary so meek-sounding, not even in the last week. Each word was like an almost-silent wind; he heard only their initial sound before the rest faded into oblivion. Part of this confusing, but part of it – the hopeful, ballooning part in Marshall's chest – thought they came so reluctantly because of fear or humiliation.

And Mary wouldn't be frightened _or_ mortified if she wasn't putting something very real and very deep on the line. Did he dare to dream?

"I just, um…" Marshall swallowed once, and then another time. It felt very odd to be hunched over her ailing body like this. It was not romantic at all. Her feet were cutting into his ribcage. "I'm just not sure I…"

He _had_ to be sure. He _had_ to. Now was not the time to ruin it.

"…You…" his phrases were getting mixed up. "You…you love me," he stated it before asking. "Okay…"

She was going to have to help him out. There was no good way to decipher whether she meant as friends – because even that was a big step for Mary – or as something more. What if Marshall plunged recklessly onward, only to discover his partner had made a giant leap for healthy companionship?

"And, I know I _can't_ love you…" Mary had clearly sniffed-out his confusion and became an entire wreck all over again in the presence of the prior phrase. "I _can't_…"

"Why not…?"

She couldn't understand because she was weeping, pulling her hand free and covering her face.

"I can't; you have Abigail…" her shoulders were wracking with tremors as she refused to look at him. "You have Abigail; I can't believe I even said that…"

"No…" Marshall shook his head, now attempting to pry her hand free and not lean on her staples at the same time. "No-no, I don't…"

He had never been more eager to share a piece of information, but Mary was buried and couldn't see his fast-growing smile. This was so delightfully backwards, Marshall wanted to laugh. Had it been possible he had stayed so steady because some intuition deep down that knew Mary front-to-back realized she was going to be the one to say it? He hadn't a clue where all these feelings had come from; whether they'd been ruminating all along or just now bubbled to the surface.

But, he didn't care.

"Marshall, I'm a mess…" she finally slipped her fingers away of her own accord, but her bloodshot eyes were drawn on the blanket below.

"Well yeah, you kind of are, but…"

"Please just forget I said anything…" she was so swift to hide. "Honestly, we can be partners and friends and that's it. It's not a big deal…"

And even as she cried at the settlement that was this statement, Marshall realized his moment had come at last. He took both his hands, as they were getting so much action tonight, and placed them on either side of her face, cradling her cheeks in his palms. The touch made her look up; she really was a sight. The accident had already taken its toll, and the admissions on top of it weren't helping. Her hair was woven into his fingers; eyes blinking sadly to try and convey her willingness one more time.

"Don't worry about me, Marshall," Mary swallowed, unable to shake her head now. "I can do it."

"I don't think so…" he was fully free to wag his. "Because, I've been there. And it's hell."

Oh, how he enjoyed watching the light bulb go on. The misery paled and grew, slow at first, to hope and then happiness. There was no grin; there was no cheesy giggle or blushing. But, Marshall knew as he had known for eight years how Mary's eyes glinted at the realization of pure joy. It was dubious to begin with; dubious and doubtful. But, then the green flashed from disbelief to anticipation in three blinks. By holding the jade with his blue, he could make her believe without another word. The hope washed aside to make way for acceptance; the color seemed to crackle and shine, browns and yellows dancing in that forest shade.

"You don't need to sit here and fall back on forgotten words of thirty years ago to feel special…" Marshall eventually told her. "You're worth so much more than your father gave you, Mary. And, if you let me…"

He had every intention of going on, now that he knew it was safe, but it appeared he had moved her past the point of endurance. The sentiment was chased right out of him when she wrenched free of his cupping hands and drew him inward, lips mingling with his. All Marshall could do was breathe it in; the feel of her flesh sweeter than honey and brighter than the sun. It was tantalizing, having one of her hands play in his hair because that was as far as she could reach. He couldn't imagine how ludicrous they must look; Marshall perched on his knees to be close to her on the opposite end of the couch.

But, there was no one there to see them. Just he and Mary, intertwined, coupled, and kissing. As one. It was bliss, and Marshall was swimmy from the elation in his heart.

For only half a second could he pull away and make it official. They were inches from each other's noses.

"Did I mention I love you too?"

"Yeah…" Mary laughed, her face flushed and radiating heat in front of his. "Eight years ago…" she whispered. "I guess I'm finally ready to listen."

XXX

**A/N: I was waiting for the climax, but now I think it's safe to tell you this story is about at its end. There are only three chapters remaining! I know I don't give you much time with the happy partners, but they've been all touchy-feely for awhile now! I will be sorry to see this go, and flattered if you feel the same way. ;)**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: All my love to those who are reviewing!**

XXX

Marshall awoke the next morning to the sound of a soft rain pitter-pattering on the windows, and the gentle swish-swash of the wind in the trees. At first, he wasn't sure where he was. His eyes were still closed and all he could discern were the sounds and smells around him, the latter of which were few and far between. But, he knew even with all his uncertainty that he was safe. Not just safe, but happy. That must be what that lingering floating sensation in his stomach was; the feeling of heightened anticipation of what might be coming around the corner. It was happiness.

Slowly, he blinked; his vision was blurry and a little clouded, but after a few more tries he made out Mary's kitchen in his line of vision. The smaller window beyond told him it was indeed raining, something they hadn't experienced in several weeks. He'd almost forgotten how soothing the noise could be, especially when he had nowhere to go.

Stretching, he saw that his legs had protruded over the end of the couch, and he wasn't extended and rubbing his eyes more than a minute before he heard a knock on the door. It was possible that was what had woken him, but it didn't sound very harried or urgent. He might've simply had impeccable timing.

Marshall righted himself and ventured in an unsteady gait to the door. He saw at once through the frosted glass that it was Stan – bald head dotted in raindrops, whatever his efforts to shield the cap with his hand. In the free palm, he held a plastic sack.

"Good morning…" Marshall yawned cheerfully as he unlocked the hatch.

"Not for much longer," Stan informed him, and with a glance at his watch, Marshall saw that he was right. It was 11:30 already; the grey of the sky had fooled him into believing it was earlier.

"Sorry…" he managed sheepishly as he allowed Stan over the threshold. "I wish you had called. Did you need me to come in?"

"Oh, I've been handling it," his boss assured him, shaking off his wet coat and hanging it on the hook by the front closet. "I knew you didn't get very many winks night before last."

Marshall nodded to show he understood, but knew he was going to have to start picking up some slack soon. With Mary out of the office, he really should've been pulling double-duty, but he'd had enough trouble just keeping up with his own cases. He really was lucky to have Stan there to watch his back.

"So, inspector…" he continued without waiting for Marshall to respond, hands in the pockets of the jeans he'd slept in. "I take it you had an easier time getting some shut-eye on this go around?"

Marshall attempted to hide it, but it was fairly obvious. He'd never been so thrilled to sleep on a couch, and his giddy, early-morning smile was the perfect indication. He doubted he had to say much at all; Stan had been able to guess from the very beginning. After all, he'd been the one who had pushed him to have done with it.

"You might say that…" the man responded diplomatically anyway.

But, he raised his eyebrows and Stan chuckled wholeheartedly, slapping Marshall on the back as he reveled in the moment.

"It's _about_ time, Marshall!" he clearly couldn't resist proclaiming for all to hear, but Marshall was forced to put a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"Shh…" he cautioned, grinning goofily beneath the gesture. "Mary's still asleep," he jerked his head at the bedroom door. "We stayed up most of the night talking, and she crashed on the couch around three. I carried her to bed."

He could practically _feel_ his chest puffing outward in pride, and nothing could deter Stan's superior, all-knowing smile at the news.

"Sure-sure…" he nodded pompously, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, dripping all over the hardwood. "You two sure know how to take your sweet time."

"Some might call it _leisurely_…" Marshall mused, waving Stan ahead into the living room. "We were getting used to each other; marking boundaries…"

Stan didn't buy a word of it, "It doesn't take upwards of ten years to get used to each other," he teased. "For people who can run face-first into a fire – literally and figuratively – you're awfully wishy-washy about the relationships."

"Then wishy-washy we be!" Marshall spread his arms wide to indicate he couldn't have cared less. "Time and space are nothing if the road traveled wends you where you are headed in the end."

Stan continued to smirk at this as Marshall began folding his blankets from the sofa and fluffing throw pillows. He didn't have the faintest idea where he was going from here – there were still loose ends with Abigail to tie up, not to mention how a working bond was going to fare in the future – but he had no qualms. As long as he had Mary, there was nothing they couldn't figure out.

He was still floored when he went over the night before; it had been a virtual festival of feelings, but he'd yet to see Mary pour her heart out the way she had in the last eight hours. Between their partnership, Mark, her father, and Melissa; there was plenty to say and even more to analyze. Marshall was just glad they'd gone through it together.

"She doing okay?" Stan asked while Marshall continued tidying up. "I mean, aside from the fact that I'm sure she's sporting this same cloud of euphoria you are…" he drew circles around Marshall's hunched frame to indicate. "Physically-speaking? Has she had it rough being on her own?"

"On her own being relative, of course…" Marshall threw his boss a very giddy wink, which only earned him rolled eyes.

"It _is_ the reason I dropped by," the man insisted.

"She's been all right…" Marshall eventually answered. "I'll be curious to see how she feels today. Mostly, she just gets worn-out quicker than usual, but I have no doubts about her jumping back in the game the minute she's given the go-ahead…"

"Yeah, see if you can hold her off for five minutes," Stan requested. "D.C. is already gonna be on my ass about you two working together. Get an injured Marshal in the line-of-fire and I might as well pack my bags right now."

Marshall could tell he was kidding, at least in part, but more pressing matters were now on his mind. The bedroom door had made its telltale creak, and a shuffling, trumbling Mary eased her way out in sweats and a pair of socks. Marshall couldn't help the beaming smile that spread across his face at her appearance. It looked like perhaps she'd given herself time to gain a bit of stamina before emerging. He knew she wouldn't want to appear run-down in front of him and Stan.

"Morning…" he called from his post with a little wave.

"Morning kiddo," Stan reciprocated. "Really good to see you on your feet."

Mary squinted at the window, wrinkling her nose as she made her way over. Marshall should've known from the get-go she was going to pretend everything was routine, especially with Stan around.

"What's that wet mess falling from the sky?" she inquired, oozing with her usual sarcasm.

"I believe they call that rain," Marshall chimed in. "A rather unknown phenomenon judging by the past few weeks, I do admit."

"Hey, chrome dome…" Mary waggled irritable fingers at Stan. "What brings you?"

"Just wanted to check on my _favorite_ inspector…"

But, Stan wasn't even halfway through his joke – Mary almost having reached her destination – when she doubled over from having to pick up the pace. Marshall was startled to see her crumple, even knowing she was fine.

A short, but distressed groan escaped, "Ah…" her hands were on her knees before either of the men could blink; she was trying not to grab at her staples, though that was clearly where the pain was coming from. "Shit…" eyes pinched shut. "Shit…"

Marshall was right by her side in no time at all, curling his arm around her arched back, basking in his opportunity to assist with no stipulations.

"Are you okay?" he asked at once, Stan looking on with concern. "What's the matter?"

It took her a moment to answer, and when she did it was in bursts.

"I went…" two breaths; still crouched. "…Too fast…"

"Is it your stomach?" Marshall asked, as though he were a doctor. This one was easy to answer without words, and Mary nodded. "You have meds, don't you?" he continued. "Didn't they send you home with something?"

"Yeah…" she gasped, slowly bending to a standing position once more with Marshall's help. "I think they're still in my bag…" she swept a hand across her face, which had grown pink in the exertion. "It's early…" she assured Stan, knowing no better than Marshall what time it was. "I'll be fine."

"Come on and sit down…" Stan offered without responding to the guarantees about her health. "Marshall can get your meds."

Mary scowled just slightly at being coddled – very nearly patted on the head – but what had begun to alter in the last week had almost completely taken over the night before. She was still Mary underneath, and she could still spar with the best of them, but certain comments or phrases didn't spike her ire the way they used to.

With this thought, she felt Marshall slip his hands away and saw him jaunt toward the kitchen. Stan reached out to guide her to the couch, which she reluctantly accepted, still with that cynical frown. Once she'd settled, her boss at her side, she felt awfully conspicuous. She was glad Stan had stopped by – she'd missed him – but now she didn't know what to say. She was in a much more vulnerable state than usual, between her personal life and her job. Stan, unfortunately, had to field a lot of both.

"Well, despite the slow start…" he began to say to fill the silence.

"I'm just stiff, is all…"

"You really do look much better," Stan emphasized once more. "The last time I saw you, you were so pale…"

"Yeah well, that was the day I spiked the fever," Mary reminded him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, feeling the throb in her belly begin to taper. "Or – the day after? I can't remember," she'd totally lost track.

"Something like that," Stan agreed. "In any case…" and then he shrugged, not sure where to go with the rest of his sentence, knowing how Mary usually took compliments.

But, Mary wasn't paying much attention to the praise. She was watching Stan's jovial eyes journey to-and-from Marshall at the kitchen counter, to her sitting right beside him. They were far too good-humored for it to be a coincidence. And she knew, even after she'd only been in the room five minutes, why he looked the way he did.

And, she didn't intend to be girlish about it. She would give it to him straight – prove she was no different than always.

"He blabbed, didn't he?"

Stan at least attempted to save face, but Mary stared him down, boring into him with her lids in slits.

"I'm not sure what you…"

"Come on, Stan!" Mary hissed so Marshall wouldn't hear while he fiddled with her bottle of pills. "You _suck_ at lying. He told you. He made me sound all moony-eyed and lovesick…"

"He did nothing of the kind," Stan gave up the ghost quickly in his attempt to defend Marshall, laying a hand on Mary's knee. "And, he didn't _have_ to tell me if you want to know the truth…"

Mary glared once more, "How do you figure?" she was certain Marshall had spilled the beans.

Stan sighed slowly, and the hand that was resting upon Mary's knee suddenly began to rub it of its own accord. She fought not to pull away, mostly because she found the motion a method to halt the conversation. But, she waited it out until Stan came up with an explanation for what he meant.

His eyes were warm and childlike when his response eventually came.

"I could see it written all over his face," he whispered paternally. "He is on cloud nine, Mary."

She began to grin even though the sap was practically leaking into the room along with the rain. She had one eye on Marshall, who couldn't seem to snap the lid off, and one on Stan who wasn't quite finished.

"I told you both; I tried to tell you…"

"Yeah well, you know we're like children," Mary groused, shrugging and wringing her hands in her lap. "Have to tell us _at least_ ten times before we even _start_ to tune in."

She flipped her hair out of her face and smiled broadly at Stan, feeling the sense of togetherness and joy radiate from within as well. If Marshall was thrilled, she was ecstatic. It felt so good to allow those barriers to fall to the ground, to not have to worry about showing too much or too little. Marshall loved her just the same, and she him. She was simply grateful she was here to witness so much of what she'd missed before the fire.

"Don't I know it," Stan was saying to her declaration about his inspector's juvenility. "And, speaking of children…"

He turned from his position on the sofa to grope for the plastic bag he'd brought in from the damp outdoors. He gave Mary a shy, almost embarrassed sort of smile that clashed with her thousand-watt one, rustling the sack in his hands. As it was, Mary's delight faltered just a bit, wondering what this presentation was all about.

"I picked a little something up for you…" he offered kindly. "For the girl," a nod.

This was a good excuse to divert from all the schmaltz.

"Melissa," Mary informed him. "Marshall's idea – Missy, for short."

"Missy…" Stan bobbed his head up and down, and Mary ought to have known he would take to the nickname, like so many other men were sure to do. Something about it was strangely endearing, but the mother had a feeling she'd always be 'Melissa' to her. "It's perfect," he concluded.

"Well, perfect is overrated," Mary knew she had said that before, and was anxious to get on with the gift. "What'd we get? Spectacular job on that wrapping, I might add…"

Before Stan could even give her a chance, she had snatched the sack in her eagerness and started unfurling the top to see what was inside. It was light; if you didn't know better, you'd never guess there was anything buried beneath. But, Mary knew there must be, and within moments she was holding a soft, cotton sleeper in a vibrant red, little silver snaps marching along the legs.

In the back of Mary's mind, she was amused at the thought of Stan – of all people – out shopping for baby clothes. She wondered if the clerk had questioned his motives. But, at the forefront, all she could consider was the sheer size of the clothing. Stan had left the tags on, and it was marked with a premature stamp. But, Mary was still floored to think her daughter was small enough to fit inside this little suit. It was very nearly microscopic.

"I-I know you're not much for the feminine side of things…" Stan was stuttering over his mortification. "At least for yourself…" he hadn't even noticed Mary's train of thought leave the room. "So, I thought the red was a good color, and it only has those three little flowers…"

Mary brought herself back just slightly at the mention, turning the onesie over in hand. There were indeed three tiny white flowers adorning the chest of the outfit. But, all in all it was just as Stan had said; perfectly unisex with just a little bit of flair.

At this point though, he was beginning to realize he wasn't exactly capturing her attention.

"Is…is that okay…?" he fumbled, peering low to catch her eye. "I mean, if you don't like it…"

"No…" Mary interrupted blankly, knowing she was supposed to and for no other reason. Then she decided she could give a little more, "I love it…" she nodded slowly. "Thank-you."

Stan accepted this only partially, wondering what could possibly be keeping Marshall. Watching Mary, he saw that she had gone rather unfocused. She was staring at the fabric, fingering it lightly as though she'd never seen anything like it. He'd gotten the smallest one on purpose, knowing how frail Marshall had said the baby was. Now, he feared he maybe should've waited until Melissa had been able to gain a little more ground. He knew it to be so with Mary's next words; so soft he had to lean in to hear.

"It's so tiny…"

Stan cleared his throat, "Yeah. Yeah."

He could think of nothing else to say. Mary's emphasis on such a word didn't seem entirely positive.

"Marshall said she…" he attempted to help her understand where he was coming from. "…That she's not very big," he finished lamely.

Mary shook her head resolutely, but at least her eyes stayed with Stan this time; downcast as they might be. He'd changed her mood so quickly, and couldn't really help feeling badly about it.

"She's not," his inspector confessed in a little voice.

He might as well get to the bottom of this, "Mary…"

He wanted to make sure he had her attention, and it took her a minute before her eyes snapped in with his. He had used a more toned-down version of his no-nonsense boss voice, and it appeared to have worked.

"She's gonna be all right, isn't she?"

Mary shrugged, not once but several times. The shrugging transferred into nodding and then busywork with her hands folding up the sleeper, which she redid twice in her lap before answering.

"Yeah…" the woman said truthfully. "She just…" Mary felt as though she'd had this discussion already. "She's not going to be able to come home for awhile – too much catching up to do."

"Mmm…" Stan hummed sympathetically, realizing now where the woman's caginess had come from. "You miss her?"

Mary wasn't sure what to say. She did miss her – she wanted her _here_ anyway, and that qualified as missing her. But, it didn't seem right to form such a seamless and mechanical attachment. Three days before, she hadn't even known if she was going to _be_ a mother, let alone one that worried about their child. It seemed very cliché and rather formulaic to have a decision come with some sort of maternal instinct. She'd have scoffed loudly at anyone else who dared claim such a thing.

"I guess…" Mary answered quietly. "I'm still getting used to her…" she landed on something a bit more truthful. "I think I'm more anxious that she isn't okay, instead of harboring this desire for her to come home right away…"

"Well, you're a smart gal," Stan inclined his head politely. "You know she needs to stay where she is until she's full-sized."

Mary did know this, and it helped with the yearning. But, she feared it made her less of parent to be all right with the circumstances. The nurse's reaction the day before proved she was not customary in this way; that many parents would be begging to rip their child from the wires and cradle them at home, well or unwell. Mary knew she had no business trying to take care of a baby just over three pounds.

"Marshall mentioned you got to sit with her yesterday…" Stan was still talking as though to confirm.

"Yeah…" Mary nodded. "Mark went last night, and I think Jinx and Brandi were going to stop in this morning," she'd just remembered. "Which shouldn't surprise me, since Brandi was gushing yesterday about wanting to hold her."

Stan laughed affably, warming up to Mary's slow progression of acceptance, "See?" he caressed her shoulder with the single word. "She's got more company than she knows what to do with. Missy's in good hands, kiddo."

With this, Marshall finally returned to the scene, carrying three pills and a glass of water. He placed the liquid on the coffee table and offered the drugs to Mary, tipping them carefully into her outstretched palm.

"You would not believe the child-proof machinery on that cap," he claimed, referring to the pill bottle. "I felt certain I was going to have to use my teeth to pry it open."

"Maybe you're just off your game," Mary joked. "Whatever muscles you once had are quickly deteriorating; a bookish nerd at heart."

Marshall flashed Stan a look of mock-annoyance, "You hear how she talks to me."

"Don't know what I'm going to do with you two…" the shorter of the men decided as he stood, Mary swallowing the pills with the drink of water. "But, I do know I need to be on my way."

"Already?" Marshall inquired as Stan stretched to his full-height. "Are you sure you don't need me to come with you?" he still felt stung for having let his chief do all the grunt work.

"I might take you up on that offer come tomorrow," Stan compromised. "It'll start to pile up."

Marshall nodded, and Mary did too, although with slightly less enthusiasm. Wanting Melissa was one thing; it was something she knew she would attain in good time. Her job was another matter all together, and hearing Stan and Marshall talk about it made her ache. There was no telling when she'd be able to reclaim that, and her disappointment must've shown on her face. Stan leaned down and patted her head in that fatherly way he so often adopted.

"When you're up to it…" he was careful to start with that, no matter how tolerant. "Come in with Marshall and we'll get you back in the swing of things."

Mary was grateful, but she wasn't fooled, "It's not gonna be the same anymore…" she reminded him. "Not when I'm toting this kid around."

"We will figure it out," Stan was no less confident, seeing the nervousness in Mary's eyes. "Until you tell me otherwise, that desk isn't going anywhere. We both know Marshall's only got one girl that knows how to keep him in line."

He ended the speech with a jab on purpose; everybody knew it was Marshall who balanced Mary, and not the other way around. But, it made her feel good nonetheless; that Stan had no inklings of replacing her unless it was on her terms. She honestly didn't know what a Marshal's schedule and motherhood would bring, but she could be sure right now that she didn't want to give up either.

"I'll walk you out, Chief…" Marshall said as he left Mary to her own devices on the couch.

But she suddenly remembered, "Chief _Queen_, you mean."

Stan and Marshall both whipped around at the josh. Marshall was befuddled, but Stan was looking both shrewd and respectfully aggravated. Mary just grinned in that Cheshire cat way for which she was known and held up her hands in something a little less than defeat.

"Cassidy ratted you out," she claimed, still smirking deviously. "Personally, I think it's charming. We could get you a crown to cover up all that shine."

"You are relentless, inspector," Stan wagged a disapproving finger before opening the door, giving way to the drip-drop of the rain once more. "See what I get for my negotiations? Nothing but grief…" he shouldered his coat and shook his head.

"Get used to it, man," Mary wouldn't let up, but she also didn't realize the power of her words until Stan took pause in the open doorway.

He cast his gaze on her with fondness, going over the phrase once more, and Mary could tell by his eyes he was processing everything that had gone down in the last week. All three of them knew, without a shadow of a doubt, there had been a very distinct possibility they couldn't 'get used' to anything Mary did.

With that, Stan nodded solemnly, "I'll do my best," he said seriously.

Mary watched as Marshall saw him onto the stoop, exchanging farewells and schedules for the upcoming days. It was true there was going to be much to rearrange in the impending future, but nobody did unplanned and unpredictable better than the three of them.

Marshall was still looking rather buoyant as he returned to the sofa, sliding Mary's water glass to the edge of the coffee table out of habit. Mary knew that Stan had been right; he was over-the-moon and showed it whether he uttered a single syllable. She just wasn't sure where that took them from here.

"Interesting you should mention Cassidy…" he cut-in out of the blue. "When I saw Stan yesterday, he mentioned that she and Alex are settled somewhere up north. By all accounts, they're doing well – testimony went off without a hitch."

"Good…" Mary nodded, liking the familiarity of such a conversation. "She's been through enough."

"That she has," Marshall concurred. "This could be the start to getting the pair of them on the right track; Cassidy could live a very normal life."

Mary found herself wishing almost instantly, "I hope so."

She knew, whether she said so or not, that the young seven-year-old girl who coveted her father day and in and out had-had more effect on her than any witness in quite some time. There was a connection there, whether she ever saw the child again. Their worlds might've been entirely different, and personalities likewise, but at the end of the day Cassidy had taught Mary something it had taken her far too long to recognize. Even when it was staring her point-blank in the face.

"Did I tell you just how much that kid bleated on about gratitude?" Mary voiced, halfway to prickly as to not seem overly taken-in. "I guess her father really pounded it into her. She must've said 'thank-you' to me at least fifty times," an exaggeration.

But, Marshall nodded with a comforting smile, "She said it to me a lot too. My guess is the two of them haven't had a lot of outside help, and have learned to really cherish it when it comes along."

"Funny, how it can take an age for some of us to figure that out," Mary quipped.

She looked at this man; this man whom she never wanted to let go of. This man who had never failed to stand at her side and swallow a cloud of smoke, or even take a bullet. This man who had been patient and accepting and steady and kind. This man she wanted Melissa to know as not simply Marshall, but as family. And family, she had once vowed, was something you never turned your back on. No matter how dark the hour.

"An age, huh?" Marshall was catching on.

He did more than catch the implications; he caught her cheek, skin mingling on top of skin. It was slow and it was magical, and Mary prayed this paradise into which she'd fallen never tapered away. To keep him near, she returned the favor with a light kiss of her own, finding his lips and soaking him in; the most supple of breaths between each individual, floating lift.

"Well…" he reflected when they were eye-to-eye once more. "You know what I always say…"

Mary couldn't imagine what it was, but it didn't even matter. Nothing mattered but this.

"Better late than never, partner," he claimed quietly. "Better late than never."

XXX

**A/N: Two to come (and one of those is the epilogue!) I will miss it! :(**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: You guys have me at almost 200 reviews! I am floored! 'My Way Home' has always been my most popular story by a long shot, but this one may overtake it. I am flattered and so surprised considering this is a story that sat in the closet for almost a year.**

XXX

"Melissa Jean, huh?"

Mary stared down into the face of her daughter and tried to picture her with such a classic, ordinary-sounding moniker. Try as she might, it wasn't possible. The harder she stared, the more she tried to see this child as someday grown and carrying her name wherever her feet took her, the more difficult it seemed. Though her mother knew, if they were lucky, Melissa would eventually tie her own shoes, ribbon her own hair, and trot off to elementary, middle, and high school, it was just too far in the future.

Right now, she was petite and ideal exactly the way she was, no matter how long it took her to hurry up and fall in line with the others. Whoever the 'others' were.

"Missy Jean…" Marshall tried it on for size, for he was the one who actually had the child in his arms while Mary looked on. "It's got class – _and_ sass," he decided. "Taking after her mother already."

An uncomfortable part of Mary thought the chosen title was a little too Southern sounding, but it had been Mark's choice. Since she'd given herself the honor of labeling the first time, she knew she needed to be tolerant about the middle section.

"Just think…" her man was still talking. "When she's eighteen, that's what they'll be calling as she walks across the stage. Melissa Jean Shannon."

"I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, Poindexter," Mary decided. "Let's at least wait until she's walking before we start thinking about that."

"Deal," Marshall agreed.

The NICU was different when you were allowed to come back as a visitor. It wasn't as daunting knowing at least one side of a mother-child duo had come out smoothly on the other end. And when Mary looked at how some of the adjoining infants were faring, she knew how fortunate she was that all Missy needed was additional hours. Time, they had. Better beating hearts, they did not.

And really, she knew being unhappy in any capacity, watching Marshall cradle such a little girl, was a non-starter. He was so attentive; so careful. She could sit and gaze at the pair of them for hours. When she thought about having denied her otherwise boxed-in universe a relationship of this magnitude, all she could do was shake her head. Marshall continually ran his finger over Melissa's soft skin, adjusted the tubes as though they were nothing, and marveled in everything from her toes to her ears with a look of pure, unadulterated wonder. It was love. He was in love.

"Mary, I need to ask you something," he posed after a few quiet moments, Mary just having bent to kiss her daughter's hand hanging limply from its blanket.

"Yeah…?" she was slightly distracted by those five flawless fingers. "What?"

He didn't say anything at first, which convinced Mary that he didn't think she was listening. Therefore, she straightened as well as she was able and faced him dead-on, resigning herself to getting another peck on Melissa at the next available opportunity. She could see in his effortless, drawn features that he was serious. It was something important, if not life-altering.

"Marshall, what?" Mary persisted impatiently. "Spit it out."

He looked to the little one another time before fixing the elder with his eyes once more.

"You and I…" he began, shifting slightly to get a better handle on his words. "Us. Well, I don't know what we are, but…"

"Not just partners anymore, sure…" Mary batted back swiftly, knowing where at least the first portion of this was headed. "It doesn't need a label. I get it."

"Okay…" he swallowed, cautious of keeping Melissa content in the crook of his arm. "Well, bearing all that in mind…"

Mary wanted to ask what he meant by 'all that' since they hadn't defined anything at all, but given the words they'd exchanged the night before, she figured it was implied. In any case, he seemed awfully twitchy for a man who'd basically had his dreams come true with the rising sun.

"Where do you see me fitting in…?" he soldiered on awkwardly, gulping about six times to get each word out. "When it comes to…?"

And he jerked his head at Missy, still sleeping soundly exactly where she belonged. At first, Mary was a little lost, but the more she thought about it, the more she understood. But, before she could vocalize her opinions on such a thing, Marshall had already gone on.

"I mean, you and I..." he very nearly repeated himself. "We can figure that out. We can deal with whatever D.C. says about us working together. I can handle everything that's going to come cascading down as far as Abigail is concerned. We can even have checkered table cloths and white picket fences, if that's what you want…"

"Well, don't say 'white picket fences…'" Mary groused through all his bleating. "Yuck."

Marshall ignored her, "But Mary…" he went right on, resolute in his mission. "I didn't show up to take anybody's place. Missy has a father. I don't want to take that away."

Mary was more than a little baffled that he was so hung-up on this. He wouldn't have brought it up if he weren't. But, the way she saw it, father or no father, there was no way Marshall wasn't going to be an enormous part of Melissa's life. He was the reason she was here with them today; Mary would never stop believing it. Despite how ridiculous she found his apprehension, she still knew it was up to her to ease his mind.

"Think of it this way…" she opted to start light, nudging her chair closer to his next to the empty isolette where Melissa had resided not long before. "I only had seven years with my _one_ and _only_ father. I figure letting Melissa bounce between you and Mark for the rest of eternity covers those years I lost with James."

Marshall wasn't satisfied and shook his head, "I said I didn't want to replace anyone."

"Well then, don't put that term on it…" Mary was getting a little bit irritated he had chosen to be so formal about this, but reigned it in. "You're _extra_," she threw onto the table. "Additional. Kind of like a bonus…"

"Supplementary?" he offered eventually with a twinkle in his eye.

"Whatever," Mary laughed. "The point is, there is not going to be a number one or a number two when it comes to Melissa," she informed him. "Well, except for me," she put a hand to her chest to indicate nobody took her title away, hoping to see him chuckle. "I'm always number one."

"There is that," Marshall picked up on the joke right away, correcting the creases in the baby's hat while she shifted to find the warmer spot in his arms.

"You and Mark get to share number two," she went on diplomatically. "I know there are going to be hundreds of times down the road where Mark pulls rank because he's dad, but it comes with the territory. There's no competition here," it was her turn to play with the hat, wondering for the first time if another color would look better. "You can bet your ass she's going to grow up knowing that you, me, and Mark are all on equal footing."

"Nice sentiment," Marshall finally did chortle softly. "But, I just wanted to make sure I wasn't stepping on any toes."

"Well, if you do, you do…" Mary shrugged. "Like you said, we'll figure it out. Mark knows what he's getting into here. Surely three heads are better than two."

"You would think," he conceded, and she could tell by the finality in his voice that he'd considered the matter settled.

It was silent in their little corner, the only noise the steady _chunk-chunk_ of ventilators still whirring to aide those babies in need. The other parents were quiet, either nestling their young or perched with their eyes glued to their snoozing forms. But even for Mary – one who always felt prominent if she wasn't the only person in a room – it was as though the earth had melted into the background. No matter how many individuals held vigil around them, she could've sworn it was only her, Marshall, and Melissa. Evidently, her partner was thinking the same thing.

"It is rather peculiar," he dictated. "How empty a full expanse can feel."

He flicked his eyes onto Mary to convey he too possessed the feeling that they were the only three people in the world. An otherwise lonely sensation was suddenly plagued with sensitivities dressed in unity.

"She is stunning, Mary…" he continued when she had nothing to say. "A remarkable beauty."

Mary grinned with a similar outlook, but was thoroughly stunned when her daughter began to fidget and wiggle herself in Marshall's grasp. He clucked his tongue and shushed her, but there was nothing to be done. She resumed her squirming, nearly knocking her prized hat to the ground in agitation. Initially, Mary's old worries rose like water to the forefront. She laid a hand on Marshall's back, trying to keep it from trembling.

"Is she all right?" the woman demanded a little louder than she intended. "What's going on? Why is she…?"

Her query trickled away all on its own, but she still didn't know where to turn. Up until now, Melissa had been virtually still and silent, outside of her steady stream of breaths. She waited for Marshall to give her the information she needed, and he didn't disappoint.

"She's fine…" he promised calmly, and Mary knew this must true because the little girl was, after all, still hooked up to monitors that would've sounded the alarm. "I think she's waking up."

Mary waited, enraptured for no real reason, to see if Marshall's guess had any merit. Her daughter was still shifting, little fingers flexing inside the warmth of her blankets. Her softball-sized head rolled side-to-side in the bend of Marshall's elbow, whimpering and cooing with nothing more than uncertainty. Tears had yet to fall, which eased Mary's heartbeat slightly.

However, she was known for her hesitancy and pressed once more, "Are you sure?"

But, the minute the words escaped her lips, the most unexpected of feats occurred. There, with Mary poised over Marshall's shoulder to gawk at her child, she saw the faintest flutter of eyelashes. They were as miniscule as the rest of her, like little fragments of pepper dusting the lids. Before Mary could wrap her mind around what was happening, the petals flickered once more with a third coo. The flurry became a blink – once, and then twice more.

And Mary let out the most unoriginal of gasps as she gaped, gazing into the eyes of her child for the very first time. They were dark; almost a whirlpool of total blackness. But, once she settled in and focused, the stony quality began to change. They swirled and spun, drinking in her mother and Marshall; a spiraling eddy of fascination and hope.

"Oh, sweet Jesus…" Mary eventually breathed, taking a little away from that clichéd aspect.

But, Marshall was as captivated as she was, "There she is…" he crooned sweetly. "Hi, pretty…"

Mary extended a finger from where she stood splayed over Marshall's back and ran it down her daughter's cheek. It roved and roamed from the cheek to her head, still sheltered in the safety of the hat. It wasn't until then that Mary realized how much she enjoyed the natural facet of seeing Melissa's orbs, and swept the knit fabric aside. There she was – bald, wide-eyed, and gorgeous.

"My Missy…" she couldn't resist the name Marshall had so eloquently given her, which now seemed so perfectly suited. "Missy Jean…" the little one moaned softly at the sound, content to have her mother's hand on her belly. "That's my girl."

It was the eyes that broke her. Until now, Mary had been certain something would invade her little girl's sanctuary of secluded peace; something would crop up and set her back. She'd been bracing herself every step of the way for a hindrance; it was how she'd operated since the age of seven. You couldn't forget to look for danger behind every corner; you always had to be two steps ahead of everyone else.

But, in the here and now she had become convinced that everything Marshall had been feeding her was correct. Time and liberty, instances and gaps were nothing at all if they could just hang on long enough for the end result. Cassidy had taught her gratitude; Melissa had taught her patience. Marshall had taught her faith.

It wasn't until her partner – also so aptly titled – turned to look up at her that she realized she was crying. She was dotting his shirt; droplets running in rivers down through the buttons like rocks against the impending flood.

"What?" he posed, clearly afraid. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

All Mary could do was shake her head to make him understand. Her hands relaxed and found their way around his neck, fingers running like wild horses on his chest. Her chin dropped with the rest of her, finding his shoulder so she was close enough to see the whites of his eyes as well as Melissa's. He was such a handsome profile.

"She's okay…" Mary finally managed; voice rather murky and clouded. A long exhale, "She's okay."

Marshall turned and pressed his lips to her skin in acceptance, blinking at her side sketch. He could see one, gorgeous and watery green eye; a nose, a cascade of blonde hair, and a mouth turned up on the ends in a sweet, perpetual smile.

"She is," he reinforced gently. "And so are you, I might add. No small feat for either of the Shannon women."

Mary was too wrapped-up to brush off his compliments, "I love you," her turn to kiss; his temple instead of his face.

"Love you too, inspector," he reciprocated politely. "And I'll tell you the same thing I told Melissa here when she was still a few days brand new."

"What's that?" Mary inquired.

The arm that was not supporting the wide-awake, fighting little one pulled Mary in at the neck for a long, slow embrace; arms and lips, hands in hair and nails on the softness of shirts. In the nook of her mind that was still functioning, Mary wondered how she had given up eight years of something as magical as _this_.

And yet, she should've known her fears were about to be erased. Sometimes time was all it took, and it was Marshall who was coaching her in that. She didn't love him for nothing.

The whisper was lighter than air; carried on clouds and flapping wings.

"Slow and steady wins the race."

XXX

**A/N: I know this one wasn't very long, but the epilogue is to come and it is SUPER long LOL! I hope you all enjoy the way I wrap this up!**


	30. Epilogue

**A/N: I am overwhelmed by everyone's support. As I said yesterday, 'My Way Home' was my most popular story by a wide margin until last night. I went several reviews past with everyone hitting that button. Not only that, if you use the review count to filter the stories in the IPS fandom, this one is now the tenth most popular. I am touched by your comments, and sad to see this wrap up. This epilogue is insanely long (so long it might bore you,) and it's possible you may choke on the sappiness, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.**

XXX

**Five Years Later:**

Mary was grateful the balloons had been red, rather than pink, or even yellow. Red indicated a kind of non-gender-specific quality she had always admired. That was perhaps why she had loved red so much as a child, and had tried to foist such a feeling onto her daughter. She wasn't entirely sure the attempt to embed had been successful, however.

"I kinda wanted some purple ones…" Melissa intoned from the round kitchen table, licking her fingers free of chocolate icing.

Mary turned to look at her, completely uncouth as she smacked her lips, combing every inch of her nails for stray spots of fudge. The ponytail her hair had been in earlier – dirty blonde and with a perfect wave down the center – was askew, having migrated to the side of her head. The absolutely pointless ribbon Jinx had tied in it was falling out too. You could see the rubber band that had so skillfully been concealed beneath.

"Purple what?" Mary eventually inquired, back against the counter.

"Balloons," Melissa answered promptly, still sucking her fingers and reading her mother's mind. "It's my favorite color."

"This week," the elder couldn't help pointing out. "Last week you said it was yellow."

"I changed my mind," the little girl claimed baldly, as though her mother should've known. "Yellow is too _vivid_!" she squealed on the tail end, throwing out her chocolate-y fingers in her enthusiasm.

Mary could not hide the disbelief or the laugh that escaped at such a proclamation, "Vivid?" she inquired with great skepticism. "Where did you learn a word like that?"

Melissa, an eminence uncanny of the woman standing before her, merely raised her eyebrows without comment as if to say, _"Where do you think?"_

"Forget I asked," Mary joshed, recognizing the superiority in her five-year-old-face. Migrating over to the table, she questioned the child about the cake, "You leave any for me? Or did you hog it all?" She peered at the remains, all crumbs and smeared frosting, and yet Melissa still shielded it with her hands, a maniacal gleam in her eye. Mary saw the way they sparkled behind her little round glasses, making her look more scholarly than most.

"I thought it was _my_ birthday!" her tongue poked between her teeth.

"Yeah, and what makes _that_ so special?" Mary was careful to sound expertly teasing so her daughter was not the least bit offended. "You think you had a hand in getting here, girl? We've talked about this. Who did the grunt work, huh?"

Melissa merely giggled, more in-tune to her mother's dry wit than any other child so young. But, it was easy to roll with the punches when you grew up with that kind of humor. In any case, both of them knew she was only fooling around. Bedtime stories detailing the fairytale of a three pound baby fighting her restraints in the nursery were the most popular around Chez Shannon. Melissa always got every ounce of credit she deserved.

"You have a good time today, sweets?" Mary went on in a more natural tone, seating herself across from her daughter at the table. "Did you manage to look past that garishly girly dollhouse Jinx picked up for you?"

"_I_ like it…" she emphasized the first letter contemptuously, resuming her feast of cake now that she saw Mary wasn't going to steal it. "Those humans she got to go with it have glasses like mine. They can be scientists, and I can turn the kitchen into their lab. They can concoct a special brew," her large jade orbs danced to life once more just at the prospect.

Mary was simply floored. 'Humans,' not 'people,' and certainly not 'dolls.' 'Concoct' rather than 'make.' And then there was the fact that she wanted her figurines to be scientists rather than mommies and daddies like all the other little girls.

"Make sure Jinx is here when you set that up," her mother joked, leaning her chin into her hand as she contemplated such a thing. "It'll crack her up."

"I know it…" Melissa was anything but deterred. "Remember when Brandi got me those paper dolls? I cut-out my own clothes. I made them into fire chiefs – like the ones that saved you and me," she detailed unabashedly. "Jinx _and_ Brandi thought it was _hilarious_."

"Hilarious," Mary repeated. "You sure you're five, sweets? You sound about thirty," she brushed over the fact that there had only been one 'fire chief' that had rescued the pair of them, whatever her daughter's imagination.

"Not thirty yet…" she shook her head. "But…"

And suddenly, the little girl's air of complete overconfidence faded. Her eyes, once before so lifelike and jovial, sunk into darkness; their green no longer radiant. Her already matted hair even went limp as she blinked confusedly at her mother. Mary watched her eyebrows furrow and her nose wrinkle, and it was like she was looking back at herself.

"Melissa?" she prompted, wanting to know what this was about, leaning in and squinting. "I was kidding; you know that…"

She did want to confirm sometimes, still befuddled to think she had a kid that grasped her type of sarcasm. Melissa merely shook her head.

"The boys won't miss when I turn thirty, will they?"

Mary couldn't stop herself from smiling sadly at Melissa's downtrodden expression. She had been very caught up in the throes of her birthday, as was any girl of five, but both of them knew the piece that was missing. Much as she loved a good spoiling from Jinx and Brandi with Peter mingling in-between, they were not with whom her heart was strung. It beat on a regular Joe who sold solar panels, a chief with a balding haircut, and a US Marshal with a five-point-star forever fixed on his belt.

"Try not to think about that…" Mary offered as kindly as she knew how. "You got lots of stellar presents," she reminded her, folding her elbows on the table, nodding benevolently.

"Yes…" Melissa bobbed her head properly. "That's true," she sounded so adult, Mary thought. Then again, she always had; precocious as they came. "Jinx even said she would trade me the party shoes she bought for a pair of hiking boots," this seemed to perk her up.

Mary chuckled, "What do you want hiking boots for again?" she couldn't remember the latest escapade.

There was no delay, "For when I go spelunking," it was such a long word it came out sounding more like, 'spell-bunking' but it made no difference. It was amusing no matter what way you sliced it, considering it was only Melissa's mind's eye that was going to take her any such place.

"How could I have forgotten?" Mary played along, but her child didn't smile this time. She averted her eyes to the last few morsels of cake and took her final bites. "At any rate; it'll be awhile before you turn thirty," she reflected, not even wanting to think about that day.

"Twenty-five years," like the brilliant brain she was.

At that moment, there was a rapping knock on the door. Both Melissa and Mary turned at the sound, eyes catching the living room still littered with the after-effects of the party. Streamers were strung against the carpet; balloons running out of gas lingered midair. There were piles of wrapping paper still strewn on the floor, and the aforementioned dollhouse standing oddly sentry in the midst of the chaos.

"Who's that?" Melissa inquired, whipping back to face Mary.

She shrugged, "Don't know. Maybe Brandi or Jinx forgot something. Go ahead and see."

Mary watched the rest in slow motion, watched her daughter push her chair back and run – _tappity-tap_ – across the kitchen floor. Her pale blue party dress was rather bedraggled like the rest of her. The sash that tied around back was coming out of its bow, and the ruffles were crushed against the rest of the fabric. But, Melissa was too active; too energized to bother with it looking nice. Jinx had been disheartened at first, but knew her granddaughter well enough to concede. At least the child was diplomatic enough to put it on.

Slowly, Mary ventured in behind the birthday girl, stopping in the doorway to the living room to see her stand on tip-toe to reach the knob. The act was hauntingly familiar of a dream gone bad she had-had many years before, but something told her the end result would not be the same. The hatch made its creak as the blinding sun emerged, shielding the visitors from view for only a fraction of a second.

That was until the unbridled elation and bliss swept in a fleet through the demolished room; here to wash all disappointment away.

"SURPRISE!"

It was that high-pitched little girl's shriek that turned Mary's smirk of a secret into a genuine grin. She'd lived for this; lived through the entire day pretending the three most important men in her daughter's life were too busy to show up for her birthday. Until now, she'd wondered if such a fib had been worth it. There was no wondering anymore.

Miss it? As if.

Melissa was so shocked by the three familiar faces on her stoop that she couldn't bring herself to speak or even maul them. She spun on the spot to face her shrewd mother, hands clasped in front of her chest as though all her prayers had been answered.

"Mama!" her tone was so sweet with its sincere astonishment. "Mama! They…you said…!"

The words were very literally chased out of her when a long and lanky arm scooped her up from behind, flipping her upside-down as though she were a sack of potatoes. She was tiny; no getting around it. No bigger than the average three-year-old. Brandi lovingly called her, 'Thumbelina.'

"Mama!" the squeal turned into a laugh as she hung by her ankles.

"Guys, come on…" Mary chastised quietly, forever protective. "Her glasses…" they were dangling off one ear.

"Well, that looks like Missy Jean!" Mark proclaimed from Marshall's right, peering into the face of his child, which was fast-growing beet red. He didn't entirely ignore the request about the spectacles and pushed them back onto her nose.

"Mmm…" Stan, on the left, hummed disapprovingly, taking his turn at crouching over an armful of packages. "I don't think so, boys. No-no…" he shook his head, blatantly taunting. "This girl is too big. We caught the wrong one – it's not her birthday."

"Is so! Is so!" Melissa shrieked, growing breathless in seconds from trying to twist herself right-side up.

"I'm not sure we can trust this one, men…" Marshall chimed in, tightening his grip with a tickle, which prompted another laugh from the flailing one below. "She's got the shifty eyes."

"Do _not_!" Melissa was not about to be deterred. "It is my birthday! You _know_ it's my birthday...!" for someone with their head almost on the ground, her speech was remarkably quick. "Remember?! I'm Melissa Jean Shannon! I was born on August 11th! I was only three pounds! Marshall…!"

A mirthless, delighted giggle was more inviting than finishing and she shimmied upward, the man in the middle still holding her firmly by her feet. Mary was grateful she had on shorts underneath that ridiculous dress.

"You were _there_!" funny, how she could always spot her mother's sarcasm a mile away, but she always played along with these three. "Mama, tell him he was there!"

She batted her eyes furiously across the room, waiting for her mother to confirm such an event. Mary stayed where she was, reveling in every second, and then nodded solemnly.

"She's innocent, this one…" the woman held up her hands. "Looks like you found the right girl."

"Well, that's assuming we can rely on your word, inspector…" Marshall waffled, but his eyes twinkled and he loosened his grip briefly to hitch Melissa around, hoisting her into the crook of his arm. "I'll be doing a background check."

"Yeah, get right on that," Mary scoffed.

But, the games were over. Free to grapple and cling, Melissa was now perched aloft with the man who had, indeed, been there at her appearance. He planted what sounded like a very wet kiss right in the middle of her forehead, while Mark and Stan attacked her cheeks. Shameless, they were. One little girl could turn three full-grown men into a puddle of mush.

"Happy birthday little Missy…" Marshall sang.

"Guess we got it figured out after all…" Mark conceded, ruffling her hair.

"You knew it all along, Mark," Melissa dictated, never having been much for official titles. "_All_ along."

"Happy fifth, captain," Stan gave her a light punch with his fist. "You're in the big leagues now."

Melissa ignored all salutations, hardly able to inhale and exhale with all the stimulation whirling in her very veins. Mary couldn't help noticing how she gripped at Marshall like he was the edge of a cliff; she might've been cutting off his circulation. But, even as she clutched, her eyes darted from Mark, to Stan, and back again. She was in love, and she was not the only one.

"Mama said you weren't coming…" she couldn't resist pointing out, Marshall shifting her in the air so she would be a bit more comfortable. "She said you were working – all of you! She said all of you were working!" she clearly could not get past the idea that she'd been duped so spectacularly.

"A birthday would not be a birthday without a little surprise," Marshall told her. "It is tradition."

"And who needs solar panels in this heat anyway…" Mark chimed in, fiddling with the droopy bow on her sash peeking out between Marshall's arms. "Sun roasts things better than we do. This is the hottest August we've had since I moved here."

Marshall shot Mary quite a significant look at these words as he began to mosey in toward the living room. His eyes didn't leave her as he said, "Not _entirely_ the hottest."

This garnered no response from the other party-dwellers, but Mary understood it for what it was. Temperature aside, no August was going to rise to the lengths of a raging fire in a burning building. The competition had already been decided on that one.

"Join us, inspector…" Stan offered with a wave of his hand as the men settled themselves on either the couch or the floor. "Marshall and I don't have to be back at work for a couple hours."

"So, who's handling the desk?" Mary inquired as she abided his request, noticing how Mark took up residence on the ground below Marshall and Melissa on the sofa. "Not Eleanor. It _better_ not be Eleanor."

Stan sighed, "You know she's been managing everything like clockwork since they sent her back our way. It's been four years. You'd think you would be used to it," he assumed.

"You would think…" Mary muttered under her breath, knowing the role she was supposed to play.

"I like Eleanor," Melissa piped up, Mary settling herself beside the crew. Mark, absurdly, was starting to examine the figures from the dollhouse. "Her snickerdoodle cookies are the _best_," it was as though she were giving some sort of review. "And she's funny."

"Hilarious, you mean?" Mary quipped, remembering her use of the word earlier, but Melissa paid no attention. She was too busy roving the buttons on Marshall's shirt, giggling when Stan stuck his finger in her sides and turning her attention to his maroon tie.

"So, Missy Jean…" Mark craned his neck from the floor to address the child. "How was the party? Did you guys have a good time?" his gaze darted to Mary as he asked.

"Yes…" she nodded vigorously, accurate as ever. "But, I really didn't think you were going to be here!" nothing else mattered now; the day could've been a total bust and it made no difference. This was what she'd wanted. "Did you know they were coming, mama? Did you?" her eyes were wide and mystified behind her round frames.

Mary tousled her hair affectionately, "My little secret, sweets. Least I can do for a girl tough enough to survive a blaze before she's born."

Melissa's ears definitely perked up at this, and she bounced in Marshall's lap. Mary knew even before she opened her mouth what the question was going to be, but despite her origination of the topic, she wasn't quite in the mood right now.

"Can you tell the story?" she asked eagerly. "Please? About when I was born?"

Marshall sensed it wasn't the time and hurried to the rescue, "That's a bedtime story, Missy. The sun has not gone down quite yet. Think you can hold on?"

Melissa huffed, "I _guess_."

"Well…" Marshall was quick to lift her spirits. "A bit more of a haul might make the wait a little easier. Mark and Stan have got your loot…" he indicated the shorter man, holding an entire pile of gifts. "Why don't you take them into the kitchen and start shaking them up?"

Melissa bit her lip in her anticipation, and nodded quickly, not before asking her most essential question, "You're coming, Marshall?"

He bobbed his head slowly, "I would not miss it. Give me a few minutes with mother dearest, here…" he inclined his head at Mary. "And I'll be right there."

This satisfied her momentarily, and she clambered off Marshall's lap, helped along by Mark who had stood to be her escort. Stan followed, clattering boxes enticingly as they journeyed to the kitchen.

Marshall, however, hung back as promised and Mary's autonomy kicked on when she stood up. His arm wove around her back, and hers did the same like it had a mind of its own. The one that hung at her side found Marshall's fingers on her side and closed in. The way he held her hand was one of her favorite things about him. It was like clarification, day after day, that he would always be there for her to reach for in the middle of the night.

Watching Missy settle herself comfortably at the table, he posed the query, "So…" he began lightly. "Did you find the cloak-and-dagger had any merit?"

Mary smiled up at him, awe written in every line in her face, "You heard the scream, didn't you?"

"That I did…" Marshall couldn't disagree. "I just wondered if it was so ultrasonic due to a despondent day. Did she actually have fun with Jinx and Brandi?" he forever worried. "Since part of that 'working' fib _was_ true. For me and Stan, at least."

Mary shrugged, her nails digging into his spine as she pulled him closer into her groove.

"Sure," she was mostly honest. "I wasn't sure I'd actually convinced her you weren't on your way until I saw her open that door. Guess I'm a decent liar," she hunched her shoulders again. "Positive or negative?"

Marshall's blue eyes shone with his adoration of her, for he had to look down to see her face, rather than up. "Well, you can decide if you would like to use your powers for good, rather than evil."

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Mary retorted.

Both went silent then, still observing the goings-on in the kitchen. Mark was doting where Melissa squirmed in her chair. He actually slipped her fair-haired streaks out of their ponytail and redid it, raking his fingers through the strands. Mary wasn't all that surprised to see him fasten the ribbon another time; he was finicky about such things, and she'd never known why. Stan was rattling packages in the seat across from the girl, offering suggestions under his breath. Melissa shook her head and giggled every time, seemingly not even noticing Mark's grooming.

"It doesn't feel real sometimes," the mother intoned out of nowhere, knowing it was Marshall's gentle up-down rhythm on the curve of her middle that was doing it. "This…"

Her words trailed away, eyes fixated on the trio beyond, knowing it was just two shy of complete. Marshall, as Marshall always did, sensed where the phrase had been headed regardless.

"I would say this is as real as it gets," he dictated. "A happy, healthy child is the gift it is forever touted. Wouldn't you say?" he chanced a glance to see if Mary was listening.

She was, but what she was _actually_ thinking was that not near as many people had the gift she did. She had a daughter that had withstood prematurity, smoke, flames, and underdeveloped lungs. A small stature and bad eyesight were a bee sting in contrast.

"Is it strange that I think she's like…?" Mary shook her head. "I don't know. This…" Marshall squeezed, and that got her moving forward. "This…_marvel_ compared to other kids?"

Marshall just laughed, which was not something Mary was expecting, but his words proved that it fit in its own way. "Missy is _your_ child, right? Marvel sounds pretty close."

Mary wasn't sure whether he was saying she was correct because all women thought their children were perfect, or because of the circumstances surrounding Melissa's birth, but she didn't care. He understood, and it was this that enabled her to open up a little more. He was pushing her in the direction of the kitchen now, seeing Melissa get antsy trying to wait to open her presents.

"I don't know…" Mary found herself repeating, making her feet move with Marshall's. "Her birthday is just weird to me. It's not like I'm sad, but it's not like I'm happy either."

"Faultlessly logical," Marshall claimed without even a beat in-between. "You have done remarkable as the years have gone on, Mare," he praised. "Nearly losing your life on the same day your child is born is something not-so-many have to grapple with."

He reminded her of this whenever she needed, but she still felt there was something wrong with the way she became enclosed on this day of all days. You were supposed to bask in your offspring's entrance into the world, not wallow in whatever hazards it had caused you. Hell, if she'd gone through labor she'd have had the same experience as other broads. _They_ managed to forget the pain and the interminable hours lingering beforehand. She couldn't?

Marshall stopped their ascent around the outside counter, seeing that he had lost Mary in her thoughts.

"Hey…"

He snaked his own arm back to his side, and then placed a hand on her shoulder. She snapped her eyes onto him, Melissa's anticipation just a distant hum in her ears.

Marshall's gaze was soft and filled with humility. She could act this way every year, and she was pretty sure he wouldn't blink. She loved him for a reason, after all.

"Missy's here," he reminded her calmly, gripping the bone in her shoulder a bit harder than he might've done ordinarily. "When the rest invades, just remember that one thing. Knowing she's here and that she's okay can squash everything else for awhile until you're ready to think about it."

Mary cocked her head, so endeared to the way he had altered his approach to suit whatever she wanted or needed. Underneath, he was not letting her get out of dealing with her feelings, but was giving her the opportunity to batten the hatches until a later date. When she wasn't willing to run as far as she needed to cope, he reeled her in as far as possible until the moment presented itself.

When she was ready. When she was ready.

"Mama!" the familiar voice called impatiently. "Marshall! Stan and Mark say I can't open until you come over!" she whined. "Come on!" she beckoned with a wild arm.

Marshall did his diplomatic duty by patting one more time, but then his focus was all for the little girl who made his life worth living. He practically goose-stepped to the table in mock-excitement, causing Mary to roll her eyes and tune back in. In typical Marshall fashion, he didn't take his own chair, but used his super-strength to lift Melissa out of her own.

She squeaked out a very girlish, "Marshall! Don't!"

He hopped, straddle-style, over the back of the chair and had settled her back in his lap before she could begin to catch up. Quick like a fox and never once missing an opportunity to delight.

"Ready to go!" he kissed the top of her newly-styled hair and rested his chin upon her head. "Party's over here, Mare…" he reminded his woman.

When Marshall waggled his fingers, Mary caught the gray band on his fourth in the light; shining and sterling silver. After four years, she still wasn't used to seeing it, especially since it was _still_ too big and he had yet to have it resized. She forever reprimanded him for letting it slip up and past his knuckle. He retorted that the day he was allowed to get her something with a stone was the day he'd adjust. So far, she'd stuck with the gold band, sans sparkles.

"Well, girly…" Mary began, taking the seat between Mark and Stan with the birthday girl on her right. "Before you open anything, I think there are a few words we should hear first…" she put a hand to her ear, playing silly despite the fact that she was serious. "Starts with a T…"

"Not a T!" Melissa corrected her, nearly knocking into Marshall's chin as she bounced up. "A 'T-H!' It makes a different sound!"

"Whatever," the mother shook her head. "If you know it so well, why don't you say it?"

Melissa smiled sweetly at Mark and Stan across the table, "Thank-you for the presents," it was rehearsed, but Mary didn't care. "They are very nice," she turned her face upward to give the last words to Marshall.

Stan just chuckled, "You don't even know what they are yet, captain," he was referring to the 'nice' comment. "We could've gotten you a bunch of boring clothes."

"That's okay," Melissa shrugged, reaching for the first box, shielding her outstretched armpits from Marshall's tickling. "When they get old I can make them into flags – for my scientist lab," she indicated the dollhouse. And then she reiterated, "Thank-you very much."

Gratitude was a big lesson in the Shannon household. Even so, Mary couldn't let the sappiness go by unnoticed.

"All right…" she waved an eager hand. "That's enough gushing. Have at 'em," and she gestured toward the tower of gifts with a jerk of her head.

Mary watched in nothing but utter amusement as her daughter, perched on Marshall's lap, opened the oddest array of presents she'd ever seen. Paper flying, she glimpsed decorative, shimmering feather boas in all colors for the days Melissa felt like feigning royalty. She saw a box that indicated there was to be a revolving solar system inside upon assemblage.

There were three stuffed animals – one for each man – including a lion, an iguana, and something that resembled a pelican, but which might've been a duck. Mary wasn't sure, but Melissa didn't flinch. She roared and squawked with the best of them, until she came to the lizard.

"Iguanas don't make a sound," she informed Marshall stoutly.

"Maybe not," he agreed. "Ask Mark what he thinks. He's the one who got it for you."

Mark was not one for technical jargon, "Show me your tongue, Missy Jean. Don't they do that a lot?" he appealed to Marshall. "That's the best we can do."

But, Melissa was pleased with the suggestion and started poking her tongue in and out of her mouth – the perfect iguana. She descended into giggles as Mark began to do the same. They were a trip, Mary thought, and she knew in just one glance that her child was going to be spoiled to the maximum. If not spoiled _rotten_.

With this thought, Mary heard the buzzing of her cell phone on the counter. She was about to tell Melissa to sit tight while she got it, but she needn't have done. Now that the opening of presents had commenced, she was a busy bee and needed her mother no longer. Signaling to Marshall and getting his approval, Mary stood and marched over to the sink.

Staring at the screen, the number seemed unfamiliar but that didn't mean anything. Her title at WITSEC these days was unofficial; instead of one who catered to the new witnesses, she kept tabs on the old three or four years down the road. This gave Marshall and Stan the opportunity to blast the nutters in the field.

"Mary Shannon," she answered in an undertone, on the off-chance Melissa was listening.

The lingo with which she was familiar warbled through her cell; accepting the out-of-state ringer along with the charges. This told her it was most definitely a witness long-since relocated, and she just hoped nothing was wrong.

Finally, there came a young and sweetly innocent voice, "Hello?" it was timid, but resolute as well.

"Yeah…" the Marshal was short. "This is Mary."

"Hi Mary…" the tone became more reminiscent with each passing letter, even with five years of time between them. "It's Cassidy."

Mary grinned against her will, wondering how it was possible year-after-year for her to forget that this call always came. Maybe it was because the timbre always sounded a little bit older; a little more matured. It was the same and yet vastly different all at once. There was years of experience etched in every syllable.

"You on a secure line?" was her first question.

The twelve-year-old laughed, "You know you ask me that every time I call."

"Part of my job," Mary was not deterred, but she was teasing. "But, it sounds like whoever is taking care of you up there does the thing properly. For now."

"Well…" Cassidy went quieter still. "They've got a lot to live up to."

Despite the fact that it was expected anymore, the appreciation still overwhelmed Mary a little. She'd taken it to heart, it was true, but she still didn't look at herself as some sort of hero. She'd done everything she'd known how to do; she'd acted on the instincts wired into her from age seven. It had paid off – nothing more, nothing less.

Still, the yearly phone call indicated it leaned toward 'more' rather than 'less.'

"Did Melissa have a good birthday?" Cassidy inquired when Mary didn't respond. "Did Marshall and Stan come?" she didn't know about Mark; never had, and it almost made Mary sad, but the details were better kept under wraps anymore.

To avoid, she responded in kind, "Don't you mean Chief Queen?"

Mary could picture the redhead rolling her eyes on the other end, "I was seven," she chuckled. "I didn't know 'McQueen' was a last name."

"Hey, I'm not faulting you…" Mary told her. "We've learned to love it around here."

Even without getting an answer to the query about Melissa's birthday, Cassidy was smart enough to know that the conversation was even partially blocked off. She'd grown used to it; it was important to keep the past in the past when it came to WITSEC. Mary always let a few things slip, but that was because they were careful. Cassidy had been one of the most careful witnesses she'd ever had.

"Well, I know you probably can't talk for very long…" the girl assumed, remembering previous dealings over the phone. "I just didn't want you to think I'd…" a sigh. "…That I'd…" another pause, and then, "That I'd…forgotten, or anything."

She was trying to be nonchalant, but the inspector could hear the need for approval lingering underneath. Cassidy couldn't stand the idea that Mary might not know she was _still_ grateful all these years later. Well, it was a hard thing to neglect, Mary conceded – having your life saved. She'd been there. The appreciation, when it mattered most, never washed away.

"I didn't think you had, Cassidy," she promised. "I won't forget either. Count on it."

"Okay…" she was preteen now, and she sounded the part. "My dad says hi too."

Mary took this at face value, "The boys do too," she referred to Stan and Marshall, fabricating just a little to appease her charge. "Take care, kid."

"Yeah…"

Cassidy didn't appear quite ready to let go, even though she knew how short such conversations usually were. Mary was patient, waiting her out, reminding herself forcefully of a night many years before when this same girl had called her crying for help, crying for the past to bring her home. It was funny; though Mary hadn't said the words or acted as such, she'd felt the same way. She'd yearned for what she could never get back instead of what might lie ahead, just as Cassidy had.

"Mary…" she was prepared now. "I know it sounds stupid. I mean, you might not get it…"

Her voice was a whisper, "Try me."

Cassidy exhaled through the speaker, and then, "It's crazy, but…" a beat. "I wouldn't change anything. I mean, even when I thought I was gonna…"

_Die_.

"You know…" she segued as Mary thought what Cassidy had not voiced. "I know that still could've happened," they were really good at keeping it in the vault, both with mutual understanding of the code. "But, I wouldn't trade it. I don't think I'd have it as good as I do now without…_this_."

She meant WITSEC. And maybe, just maybe…

"Even with the school…"

_The fire._

"I wouldn't trade it," she concluded. "I just wouldn't." She just had to ask, "Would you?"

Mary didn't have an instinct in that moment. She didn't have a gut reaction that told her one way or the other. She thought about her life before the fire. She'd been dithering around about becoming a mother. She'd been hanging onto foolish memories of a father who was never coming back. She'd had a boss she'd taken for granted, an ex-husband she'd claimed herself above, and a partner. A partner who worshipped the ground she walked on and she'd been too afraid to see it. Not to mention a mother and sister, ready to grow up if only the prickly eldest could let them pass through the gates.

Behind her, she heard Missy laughing and crumpling her paper. She heard the voices of three men who were going to watch her grow up or die trying.

_Or die trying._

"I wouldn't, Cassidy."

It wasn't a lie.

"I wouldn't," she repeated. "I'll see you, okay?" even though she wouldn't. "Take care of yourself."

Cassidy said she would, and Mary was finally permitted to hang up. Even after she did, she couldn't make herself turn around to rejoin the group. They were perfectly content in the world beyond; Melissa's universe so often consisted of the trio and only the trio. They were so much more than her heart and soul. They were her life blood. Her anything; her everything. Mary had said there would be no competition, and there wasn't. Nothing on earth compared to Marshall, Mark, and Stan.

The chortling became so pronounced; Mary had to do an about-face. When she did, all sentimentality was hounded out of her by the booming, spontaneous cackle that escaped at seeing 'the boys' suddenly dressed for the occasion. Marshall, Mark, and Stan were actually wearing the feather boas they'd given Missy; Stan in green, Mark in yellow, and Marshall in bright pink.

"Oh, this is a pretty picture…" she declared, meandering back over. "Sweets, this is just sad…" she addressed Melissa, slipping the phone into the pocket of her jeans. "Did you do this to them?"

"Yeah, right!" Melissa puffed. "Like it's _my_ fault they want to look like girls!"

"Because femininity hurts us," Marshall scoffed. "Am I wrong, boys?"

"I'd be speaking for yourself on that one, inspector," Stan interjected, looking particularly ludicrous with his bald head. "Where are we headed Missy?" he asked. "Since we're all dressed up now."

"Marshall said we were racing!" she reminded them with vigor. "In the yard! Can't we?"

This didn't surprise Mary in the least. Melissa wasn't much for sports, but she was a sprinter at heart. She went nowhere without running; she wanted to see who could go the fastest or the longest at any given moment. She constantly wished to be timed to see if she was getting any quicker, and Mary had never understood the fascination. But, she was like the wind, or else the flames her mother reflected with a lurch. Undeterred and never slowing down.

"Well then, let's go!" Mark responded, and there was much scraping of chairs, decorative feathers dangling with the rise. "Is this a team thing, Missy Jean?" he inquired. "Because if it is, you know you're captain and that means you've got to pick your favorite."

This was the oldest game in the book; all the men clamoring to be told they were number one. Stan pointed at himself, mouthing and swishing his boa. Mark shook his head at the displays and tried to get his child's attention by shoving Stan to the side. Melissa could only giggle and shake her head, too smart to be baited as such.

"One-on-one…" she was diplomatic. A very coy smile escaped, "I don't have a favorite."

Even as she said it, Mary couldn't help but notice the way she swung on Marshall's hand, fingers firmly ensconced inside his. There was the way her eyes traveled to his face as she nixed the thought of picking a side, blinking shyly beneath her glasses. Mary kept her feelings to herself, but she knew.

_No favorite_, her ass.

Her thoughts were confirmed as Melissa pulled the longest and lankiest of the three through the back door, not about to let him escape, Stan and Mark shuffling along in their wake.

It was boiling outdoors, just as Mark had reported. The sun hung lofty in the sky, despite the fact that it was nearing six o'clock; it beat as if it were high noon, scorching the back of Mary's neck. Only the faintest tinge of orange lingered on the horizon, tempting those who dappled in nature of cooler winds to come. The backyard wasn't very big, but Melissa was content to start and run from one wooden fence to the other. The scuffs from her shoes were imprinted on the timber.

In preparation for a race or five, the men began removing their adornments. No place to put them, Mary suddenly found herself a coat rack.

"Have a wrap, inspector…" Stan invited, draping her neck in his emerald boa while Mark followed suit with the yellow. She rolled her eyes at their nerve, but they paid no attention. "You deserve to look like the hostess you are."

Mark chortled loudly, but Mary only had words for her boss, "Funny," she dripped with acidity, swinging the green around like a scarf. "With those tassels and all, I really thought you'd be reaching for your scepter, Chief Queen."

Mark, fortunately, had busied himself unlatching Melissa's party shoes in the grass, for she claimed she could run better without. Stan, however, smiled softly and stole away with the opportunity.

"That who was on the phone?" he whispered while he removed his jacket and began rolling his shirt sleeves.

Mary nodded, "Yeah," she was grateful for her ability to have men that read her mind like an open book, something she used to detest.

Then again, she was grateful for a lot of things she didn't used to be, and her reflection must've shown on her face. Stan narrowed his eyebrows, knowing the sort of feelings Cassidy brought on for Mary. She understood the need for that annual check-up, yes. But still. Birthday or no, it was still a strange day.

"You good?" he posed, still in an undertone, which seemed so unnatural for all the joviality going on right beside them. "You need to talk about anything?"

"No…" Mary shook her head, and she was being truthful. She could talk later, if need be. She had a whole fleet waiting for her to spill her guts. "Cassidy's old hat by now," she only used the name because she knew no one else was listening, Marshall going through ludicrous warm-up motions against the fence. But, she saw the uncertainty in Stan's features and was quick to placate him, "I'll let you know."

Her chief, queenly or otherwise, seemed satisfied with the leeway and extended a hand to pat Mary's back. She smiled sheepishly at the gesture, feeling conspicuous even without the other three watching. And evidently, motions weren't the only thing on Stan's mind.

"We're here, kiddo…"

It wasn't so different from what Marshall had promised. Melissa was here. And so were they.

"Not _just_ for the captain," he ticked his head in the direction of the child. "For you too. Got it?"

"Yeah…" Mary laughed to show him she did, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes. She wasn't sure where they came from, but August 11th often inspired more emotion than she could handle. She'd never figured it out, but that was why she had Marshall. "Yeah, I got it." She reached out briefly to give him a pat too, "Better get on it. Melissa will get all out-of-joint if you're not in the first sprint."

Little left to do and somewhat worn-out from a day of partying, Mary stood with her back against the fence and slid down it, knees pulled to her chest in the late evening sunset. Marshall, Mark, Stan, and Melissa herself were perched against the lumber, flexing their legs in preparation for the run.

"Mama, I need you to count," Melissa proclaimed before beginning.

"Count what?" she inquired to make sure, squinting up at the foursome, lamenting that she'd disregarded her sunglasses.

"How long it takes us to get back," her daughter continued.

"These slowpokes...?" Mary gave an indistinct nod to the boys. "I'll be timing all day. How about I just clock you?"

Before Melissa could answer, Mark was on it, "Some way for a lady to talk," he referred to the insult.

But, Mary still remained astonished at the quick wit of this kid, "Get used to it boys!"

The phrase earned her a chorus of chuckles and Marshall couldn't resist patting her head affectionately. Mary could practically breathe in the light in his eyes; the sheer radiance that glowed from his very heart. She'd never known a man who could spend every waking minute with a child that wasn't even his and still relish the twenty-fifth hour if it were ever to come. They lived in the same house. They woke up together; they ate breakfast together. There was no pulling them apart unless Stan and Mark were there too, and yet Marshall never, ever got enough.

He'd meant what he said – his little Missy, through and through.

"All right, on your mark…" Mary started the rehearsed line. "Get set…"

She was still sitting on the ground, watching the figures loom above in shadow. She could see the smudges on Melissa's glasses from the way the sunshine hit the frames. Stan's bald head was extra-shiny, Mark's form more curved and relaxed. Marshall, of course, had a silhouette-length to rival even a giraffe.

"Go!"

And off they bolted, Melissa shrieking and squealing the whole way, but it didn't stop her for anything. They looked preposterous, Mary reflected. Completely and utterly insane; Stan striding along, pumping his short arms and legs. Mark at an easy jog, pretending to grab Melissa's sash in the back of her dress. Then there was Marshall, taking giant leap after giant leap, begging Missy to try and catch up. She darted ahead of him time and again; thrill not lost no matter how many times she jumped in front.

"I'm gonna win! I'm gonna win!" her daughter announced as she combed ahead, helped along by their expertly hanging back.

Mary fully expected to see Melissa touch the fence and dance in victory as usual, when she surprised her. As soon as she reached her mother, she bounded almost face-first to the ground, sailing in a nosedive in Mary's lap. She was breathless and her joints were trembly from running.

"Melissa?" Mary questioned skeptically, trying to pull the dirty blonde hair from her chest. "What are you doing, sweets? Are you okay?"

But, it couldn't have been more obvious she was elated as she emerged; ponytail fallen-out once more, whatever Mark's brave attempts to fix it. Mary was forced to push the glasses back to the bridge of her nose, eyes glimmering beneath. Dark green – exactly like Mary's.

"What are you doing?" Mary repeated, anchoring the miniscule body in her arms and trying not to think about the memories it evoked.

The boys hung back, chatting in the grass and watching the scene with an attentive eye.

Melissa finally answered, "Thank-you, mama."

Mary unintentionally frowned, "For what, girly?"

"For letting the boys come," she was prompt in her answer. "I said thank-you to them, but I didn't say thank-you to you."

"Oh, well that's okay…" she assured her with a casual wave her hand, feeling how hard she was breathing with her sprawled on her chest in the grass. "Don't worry about it…"

"That's not what you say," Melissa shook her head confidently. "You said we _always_ say thank-you. No matter what, right?"

Mary couldn't deny she'd pounded this into her daughter since…

Well, since the beginning. Since Cassidy.

"Yeah, that's true," she conceded. "No matter what."

Melissa smiled a nearly-toothless grin at being correct and glanced to the pack behind her one more time. Mary could see the high-esteem in which she held them in every inch of her features. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing they weren't and nothing they couldn't do. The perfect three.

"They're the best birthday present I have ever gotten," she finished kindly.

Mary couldn't resist clarifying, "You see at least one of them every day," she was trying not to give herself too much credit.

"Yes," she agreed. "But, it wouldn't be the same without them."

_It wouldn't_, Mary thought. In more ways than one. It wouldn't be the same without them. On that syrupy thought, the men bounded back into their midst, galumphing and galloping so over-dramatically it was embarrassing. Marshall and Stan argued loudly for Melissa's benefit about the real winner, while Mark appealed to the child.

"Why do you go a round in the big leagues?" he asked, leaning on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Marshall and Stan need some competition," he jerked his thumb at the pair. "I'm winded, Missy Jean."

Melissa, thankfulness fulfilled, pushed herself off Mary's chest and to her feet. She shook her hair out of her eyes and Mark reached out to remove her spectacles. He rubbed them on his shirt so they were free of smudges and sweat, and then replaced them. Forever sprucing her up. It still surprised Mary. She'd have thought Marshall would be the one with particulars.

"Okay…" she agreed to his suggestion. "But, Mark?"

"What?" he had to narrow his eyes to see through the setting sun.

"Will you come back a different day and help me set up my solar system?" she asked politely. "I do _not_ want it to go to waste," she finished, sounding the adult once more.

"I sure will if we don't get to it tonight," Mark promised. "But, don't worry, okay?" he offered. "It will keep, believe it or not."

"_I _don't believe it!" she declared. "Which one is your favorite planet?"

"I couldn't begin to choose," Mark shook his head, sinking completely onto his knees next to Mary in the grass so Melissa stood above him. "What's yours?"

"Saturn," she murmured, momentarily distracted by the two remaining boys pulling on her shoulder to get her to rejoin. "It's _fascinating_. I _adore_ its rings…" she emphasized. "And its Marshall's favorite too."

_Of course._

With that, she was fully prepared for a second run – or else just a lot of chase games – with Marshall and Stan. The taller of the two began to shuttle up behind her, making her shoot off like a jet toward the other end of the yard. Stan was bellowing something Mary didn't quite catch. They weren't even racing anymore; they were spinning in circles of the grandest kind. Marshall caught his girl and lifted her to climb the tree in the far corner, guiding her into the open slats.

Mark, however, leaned back on his elbows as though sunning himself beside Mary. She stayed with her back against the fence, content to simply be.

"Nice day…" Mark commented vaguely. And with a nod at Melissa, "She's such a funny kid."

"Funny as in droll and charmingly witty, I hope you mean," Mary quipped.

She only said it because she knew it was _exactly_ what he meant.

Mark didn't entirely pick up on the sarcasm and continued; "Funny as in…" he arched his neck, stretching as he paused in thought. "What's the word…?" he searched even with his eyes closed. And then, "Enchanting?"

Mary chuckled, "You are such a dad," she veiled it as an offense. "You acting like a grown-up – this nonsense notwithstanding…" she gestured in the playtime vicinity. "It's scary. I can't lie."

She called him 'dad' on purpose just to make him feel good, never knowing day in and out that if it bothered him that he did not possess the official title. But he, Stan, and Marshall had always had the equal footing she'd promised. There was no need to muddy it up with doling out designations. She liked to think Mark understood that.

"Well, dad or not…" he began. "_Somebody's_ done quite a job with her," he tapped her knee to indicate it might've been Mary. "She is something else."

Well, their lives were 'something else,' Mary reflected. She worried about it sometimes – worried that it made Melissa different, or it would when she started kindergarten in just a few weeks. She didn't want her child to stand baldly apart from a group the way she had with her slipshod childhood. She didn't imagine many little girls shared their lives with a mother and three fathers.

"You gonna answer sometime soon?" Mark probed when his ex stayed quiet.

"Just thinking."

"About?" he pushed.

"How I ever managed without her."

"Makes four of us," Mark agreed. "Missy's a spectacle…"

Observing from this end of the yard, she saw Marshall muttering reassurances to his little tree princess, promising she wouldn't fall; he or Stan would be right there if she slipped. She persisted in giggling nervously, looking down every few seconds, but higher and higher she climbed. Mary knew she was going to snag her dress and Jinx would have a fit, but she really should've expected it. She was cautious, but always willing to take a leap.

Mark was still talking.

"She's no-nonsense…"

_Stan._

"She's such a good girl; always does just what you tell her…"

_Mark_.

"And she's brilliant."

_Marshall._

"Not to mention loyal to a fault," he tacked on.

_Marshall, Marshall, and Marshall._

Before Mary could respond to this string of compliments, she heard the sound of the back door opening and closing once more. She started and saw her mother tottering out, waving a pair of sunglasses in hand. Mary waved automatically and Mark did too, but he saw the opportunity for an exit.

"Better rejoin the gang…" he stood up with a groan and Mary nodded. "Don't think _too_ hard," he teased. "Don't want you popping a vessel, gorgeous," he smiled his boyish grin through the rays of sunshine.

"Marshall better not hear you talking that way," she mused, but knew he wouldn't care even if he had; her husband was used to it.

Mark signaled to Jinx with his jaunt back to the group and she waggled her fingers in return. Mary sat up a little higher at her mother's appearance, wondering why she had returned considering she'd been hosting the party mere hours before. She contemplated in the back of her mind if she was going to burn her skin with how hot the great ball beat on her upturned mug. It didn't prompt her to move.

"Hello darling…" Jinx sang airily. "I came to fetch my sunglasses and thought I'd see if everyone had made it!" she explained. "I saw Marshall's car in the drive…"

"Yeah, the threesome showed up…" Mary pretended to grouse. "I didn't have time to clean up the mess in the living room yet."

"Would you like me to do it?" Jinx offered benevolently. "So you can stay out with Missy?"

It was pretty clear from her demeanor that Mary wasn't doing much of anything, but Jinx did know a few things – more than a few things. She would know that Mary didn't want this to end, and that she didn't want to miss a moment of it. Not for the first time, Mary decided to express her recognition of this consideration.

"Thanks mom," was all she said. "If you don't mind."

"Oh, it's no trouble…" Jinx swore.

Mary decided it was probably appropriate to stand at this moment, so Jinx would not have to stoop to try and talk to her. There were blades of grass dusting the seat on her jeans, and her face felt warm. Jinx's milky complexion had a sort of ghostly quality with the brightness of the outdoors, but she seemed to glow from within possessing such a feature.

But, far from her mother's form she saw Marshall running in from all the frivolity, able to dart away momentarily now that Mark had taken his place. His long legs got him to the two women in no time at all, and he was hardly winded despite all the running he'd been doing.

"Good afternoon, my lady…" he gave a mock-bow in his mother-in-law's direction, which forced Mary to roll her eyes. "I thought certain I would miss you today."

"Oh, Marshall…" Jinx blushed without shame at his little display, but took it in stride. "I'm sure Missy was thrilled you made it."

"Something along those lines, I would hope," he shrugged. But, Mary felt him clasp at her hand, squeezing her fingers lightly before pulling she, his wife, to his side. She all-but twirled in beside him, letting out a sheepish laugh as she did so. "All her _clever mother's_ idea."

"Jesus, don't you ever turn it off?" Mary inquired in faux-annoyance.

Just the same, she found herself pressing further in on his grip, allowing their chests to stay one-to-one – ribs-to-ribs and heart-to-heart. Marshall was dazzling; he was everything she'd ever wanted starting from seven-years-old. It amazed her, to this day, that she had been this lucky – that James had truly been washed aside for three boundlessly better versions for her daughter.

"Little Missy's all worked up because she managed to climb to the highest branch…" he revealed in an undertone, for Jinx had turned her attentions beyond so they could have their moment. "Break out the video camera, mama."

"Something tells me I won't need it," Mary whispered, finding herself drawn in by the sky-blueness of his beautiful eyes, right now dancing with joy. "To remember today."

"This could very well be true."

Mary took pause as she breathed him in, wondering if it was possible for her to ever let him go. There were nights she dwelled upon such things, worrying for herself rather than her daughter. Because she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, she had achieved what she had always strived for when it came to Melissa. The probability of her being alone was next-to-nothing; there were scads of men waiting in the wings, just as good or better than parents, ready to raise her as their own. They were ready because they were already doing it. They'd shaped Mary, and now they were shaping Melissa.

"What?" Marshall prompted, seeing Mary lost in thought, tightening his grip on her form.

Mary kept it simple with a kiss on his cheek, "Thanks for loving my kid."

Marshall shook his head, "She's my kid too. And don't you forget it," a wink.

He also couldn't help himself from leaning even further in, from leaving a whisper in her ear to ensure that no one, no matter how close or how far, was going to hear. There was a time, ages ago it seemed, when it been just the two of them. And even though she'd die before she traded Melissa, there was a small part of her that missed the days of a working partnership. It was their beginning.

"I know Cassidy taught you well," he murmured, his breath warm on her neck. "But you don't have to keep thanking me. I'd be lost without you two."

Mary nodded against him, resting her chin over his shoulder, "Ditto."

It was the smallest of moments, and it was all they needed. Marshall shifted away and left his wife with a kiss of his own before he bid Jinx farewell and dashed back into the fray. Mark had lifted Melissa down from the tree and was back to following her around. Stan appeared to be on her side this time; he continually ushered her out of harm's way, helped along by Marshall at his return. They were quite a quad.

Suddenly, Jinx was there again. She wove a maternal arm around Mary's waist, standing side-by-side to watch the scene unfold.

"There is nothing lovelier than watching her laugh," the grandmother insisted. "She reminds me so much of you, angel."

Mary's instinct was to refute this; she didn't believe it was possible. Mary had never been like Melissa, especially not at this age. She'd been cynical and brooding from the onset. Jinx ought to know that better than anyone, but the daughter kept her mouth closed and shrugged to satisfy the comment.

"She is a _riot_ just like you were," Jinx cackled reminiscently. "That is for sure."

This time, Mary joined in, but her mind was not with Jinx. It had been on its own all day, thinking to times long before August 11th when she'd refused to let anyone get close for fear of being left behind once more. She still cautioned herself every now and then, knowing the potential for loss and devastation was more likely the more people you loved, but she'd learned to take the leap she'd never been able to before Missy. It was worth the chance. Missy had been worth the chance.

"Would you look at the three of them…?" Jinx whispering lovingly, tipping her chin onto Mary's shoulder.

Stan was growling. Mark was jumping up and down like a frog. And Marshall? He held Melissa on his shoulders while she swatted at the bunch below, the bliss apparent in every vigorous squeal that erupted from deep inside her heart.

"Turning into complete fools for a five-year-old girl."

Mary didn't miss the fondness with which she uttered such a thing. She didn't miss it, because she felt exactly the same.

"Well, that's Missy Jean…" the mother said softly, not even blinking for fear of missing a second. "And the men who raised her."

XXX

**A/N: THE END! I sincerely hope the whole 'Missy's three dad's' thing is realistic, and not too schmaltzy. But, it was how I envisioned the whole thing in my head. And, like I said, I hope you didn't lose a day and a half reading the conclusion. It got a little out-of-hand.**

**Thank-you SO much to everyone who has been along for this ride. My individual thanks to reviewers – Jayne Leigh, jekkah, usafcmycloud, Hannanball13, BrittanyLS, JJ2008, thena-ditey, Meg, Grey Fool, Sunny2006, Ares' Warrior Babe, ladypuercoloco, Frankies-Girl21, MegManning, tilleygirl, JMS529, and SO many guests! Many of the guests were probably regular reviews that couldn't sign in since the site is kind of wonky these days (and one of you was probably carajiggirl!) Know that I appreciate all of your support in spades. I don't know what I'd do without you.**

**I have no idea what is next for me IPS-wise! I would love to do something with Norah/Robyn/Max/Alice, but not sure what yet. Hopefully I will return in due time! Thank-you so much for all the kind words you've given me; it's been a very stressful couple of months, but you've all made it worth it! **


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